


Remember Me Fondly

by kiddle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1990s, American AU, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closets, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Famous Harry Styles, Famous Louis Tomlinson, First Meetings, Historical, Implied Sexual Content, Interviews, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Musicians, Period Typical Attitudes, Press and Tabloids, Recreational Drug Use, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 73,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddle/pseuds/kiddle
Summary: “You’ve told the beginning of the story so many times. I want to hear the end.”Louis laughed, scratching at his chin. “I can’t say I really know when the end happened.”“How about the tour of ninety-five?”“Alright.” Louis took a deep breath. “But it took a few steps to get there. What would you like to know?”Penny cleared her throat.“How did you first meet Harry Styles?”Grunge legends Fearless Doe topped the rock charts in the ‘90s, but they spent the decade kicking Smudge off their heels. From lawsuits to jaw-dropping scandals and a surprising joint world tour, the two bands share a complicated history.Twenty-five years later, frontmen Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are finally ready to sit down and tell the world their two sides of the same story.Truth may vary.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 183
Kudos: 493





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you so much for deciding to check out my work. This fic has practically taken over my life the last couple of months and I'm really proud of how it turned out, so I hope it brings you a little bit of joy.
> 
> A quick note about themes of drug and alcohol use/abuse: while these topics are both mentioned in relation to the main characters, this is not a story about addiction, so those are very much implied themes. Of course, this is a work of fiction, so it is never meant to replicate the life, habits, or experiences of any real person.
> 
> Writing this story would not have been possible without [Jess](https://oopsandhiforever.tumblr.com/) who helped with everything from planning to editing and saving this story from being the 20k disaster I originally penned out. I can't thank you enough for all those rambling brainstorming sessions and for sticking with me over the last few months. I appreciate it more than you know <3
> 
> I also owe a major thank you to [Kate](https://itsmutual.tumblr.com/) who was an incredible beta reader and pushed me to change some major elements for the better. Your input was vital to how this turned out and I appreciate what you did for this story so much <3
> 
> While the story is not based on either of her books by any means, the structure of this fic was inspired by the works of Taylor Jenkins Ried, who I am a huge fan of! If you haven't already, I highly recommend you check out two of her books: Daisy Jones & the Six and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Incredible reads.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, I'd love to hear what you think in the comments. You can also feel free to come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://bluejeanlouis.tumblr.com/) any time! 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This fic now has a **Portuguese translation**! [Click here](https://my.w.tt/IevP2iBxw9).

### 2019

Even with twenty years of music journalism under her belt, the last person Penny McArthur ever expected to sit across from was Louis Tomlinson. Not in his isolated house off the coast of Oregon, not with his labradoodle sleeping soundly on the couch next to her, and certainly not with a notepad in her lap, recording all the details of this conversation that she didn’t want to forget. The voice notes on her phone would pick up the rest.

The rain pattered quietly against the large bay window next to them, overlooking the ocean and folds of greenery. A record spun behind her over the sound system surely of the highest quality. Any static from dust or scratches couldn’t be heard. Not because the speakers could somehow get rid of the sound, but because the record was brand new. A band Louis had signed to his label nearly a year ago. This was to be their debut album. It came out next week.

Penny had her legs crossed stiffly, her hair straightened and held with far too much hairspray, and she knew it. She wanted to look professional for the occasion, and her anxiety tended to send her overboard. When she showed up in a knee-length skirt, heels, and bright blue blazer, Penny immediately felt as though she hadn’t paid close enough attention during her research. Not that she had to match Louis’ presence, but she should’ve opted for jeans, at least. For the comfort above anything else.

In the large armchair on the other side of the room, Louis sat low in his track pants and wool sweater, a cigarette held between his middle and forefinger. Before he lit it, he asked her if she was okay with the smoke. Penny said yes. He asked if she wanted one. She said she quit fifteen years ago. He put the cigarette down on the side table where an ashtray sat next to a framed photo. It looked like an art piece. A small watercolour painting of the back of an old woman’s head, a scarf covering her hair. She was holding a sunflower by the stem as it hung over her shoulder.

“I’m sure we’ll need a break at some point. I can go outside then.”

The images Penny had in her mind of Louis were all from his glory days. Shaggy hair, baggy clothes, smeared eyeliner. When she was a teenager, she had a poster of Fearless Doe on her bedroom wall. So did every other sixteen-year-old who bought plaid shirts from American Apparel rather than a thrift store in 1993. 

“Is your tea alright?” Louis asked.

“It is, thank you.” Penny’s palms were sweating. She was getting anxious to begin.

“How many of these have you done?”

“Interviews?” The list had hundreds of names, at this point. Some, she couldn’t even recall.

“Exposes on recluse former musicians.” Louis smiled when he said it. It had been years since even a photograph of him had shown up in the papers. Now, his hair was streaked with grey and cut much shorter than the world remembered. His eyes still had a bright youthfulness to them, though the crinkles around them got deeper.

“Not many,” Penny admitted. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that I’ve been looking forward to this interview ever since we spoke on the phone. Honestly, I was quite shocked to hear you agree to it.”

Louis nodded slowly, raising a hand to push his glasses further up his nose. His sleeves covered up to the first knuckle of his fingers. “I’ve actually been considering doing this for a while. There’s some air I’ve been hesitant to clear, but I’ve read your work and I like this project. I like what you stand for. It felt like an opportunity, so I took it.” 

“You must’ve spoken to—”

“Would you like to ask the first question, or should I just start from the beginning?”

Penny could smell the candle burning on the coffee table. It smelled something like fall. Cinnamon, maybe. Like sweet baked goods.

“You’ve told the beginning of the story so many times. I want to hear the end.”

Louis laughed, scratching at his chin. “I can’t say I really know when the end happened.”

“How about the tour of ninety-five?”

“Alright.” Louis took a deep breath. “But it took a few steps to get there. What would you like to know?”

Penny cleared her throat.

“How did you first meet Harry Styles?”

### 1987

There was nothing quite like the smoky air of a basement bar, scent thick with booze and sweat, lights low and the crowd blasted with post-show energy. That’s what the early days of Fearless Doe were like. Trippy nights and hazy days. When all Louis had to do was live and breathe music. No strings attached. No label stuck to him like a ball and chain. That’s what grunge was supposed to be back before anyone gave it a name. Music for the people, not for the money.

In the early years, about 1986, Fearless Doe had four founding members. Liam Payne had been a drummer since he was six and the best friend of Louis since he was ten. They were inseparable. Never had a fight, probably because Liam didn’t have a single angry bone in his body. When those two got the idea for a band in their heads, their friend Dustin was their first recruit. A decent guitarist, but terrible at showing up on time. Emilio overheard them talking about it one day in math class and learned to play bass just so he could take part. Louis Tomlinson, of course, was the lead singer, main songwriter, and easily the most dedicated member of the band. Together, they—well—made noise.

For a few months, the band played covers at bars, trying to show off their own stuff when they could. While Louis was _the_ songwriter of the group, Liam was a surprisingly good lyricist as well, which turned them into quite the team. But soon, they started cycling through members. Emilio wanted to focus on college and Dustin was headed the ways of many Washington fathers: logging. That left Louis and Liam with the task of auditioning recent high school graduates and college dropouts. Their own people. 

In 1987, Louis had taken over bass duties since they were down to three members, but their newest guitarist decided to head out to LA where he was sure bigger and better things were happening in music. Louis and Liam said goodbye, then held another round of auditions for a new guitarist in Liam’s parents’ garage the next day.

Three people showed up for auditions. Louis never forgot two of their faces. The first guy who played for them, Louis never even remembered his name. He was nice, but “Smoke on the Water” is quite possibly the worst song to pick when you want to try out for lead guitarist. Three chords and no solo? Keep practising, man. So, that left two. They didn’t arrive together, but they showed up around the same time.

“Who wants to go first?” Liam asked. They were sitting in camping chairs behind a white table his mom used for garage sales, feeling quite professional given the circumstances.

“I can go,” said the boy in a denim jacket that looked a size too big for him. He dressed like Bender from _The Breakfast Club_ without the gloves, and Louis would’ve scoffed if it was anyone else, but somehow this guy pulled it off. His hair was greased back, but a few strands hung around his forehead. What decade was this guy from?

“I’m Zayn,” the guy said. “I’m just gonna jam if that’s okay.”

“Go for it, man,” Louis said.

Zayn plugged his guitar into the cord that was sitting on the ground from the first guy, then walked over to the amp to flip the switch when he realized it wasn’t on. He strummed a chord, cranked the volume, then strummed again.

His hand flew up the neck to a bend at the fourteenth fret, overpowering sustain bursting through. Fingers danced up and down the board at rapid speed but with a steady flow. He bit his tongue between his teeth, eyes squinted and nose curled. As his hand dropped back to a low chord, his head dove into it. Four quick strums. Four more. Back up to a screeching arpeggio that his pick could barely keep up with. Three power chords, and a slow slide out.

“Damn,” was all Liam could say because his mind was otherwise recovering from being blown.

“That was fucking sick,” Louis told him, his mouth dry from hanging open.

“Seriously. You’re talented, man.”

Zayn laughed modestly. “Thanks,” was all he said.

“Stick around while we listen to…” Liam gestured a hand out to the next guy, signalling him to introduce himself.

The kid rushed over to Zayn, taking the cord he was holding out for him. “I’m Harry,” he said, surprising confidence in his tone. The amp buzzed as he tried to plug in his guitar, then shook the hair out of his eyes. “I’m gonna play a pretty popular solo.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Louis told him.

From the first notes, Louis recognized the tune. There was only one song he’d want to hear less than “Smoke on the Water” and that was “Stairway to Heaven”. Don’t get him wrong, it was a great song and he was a Led Zeppelin fan, himself, but it was beyond overplayed. Harry was doing a decent job, mind you. You could see the strength in the hands of a good guitar player, and he had it. His particular skill had a curious method, possibly self-taught. If that was the case, he had a musician’s discipline, for sure. There was no doubt he was talented, but there was something familiar about this curly-headed kid.

“That was great, dude,” Liam said when he was finished. Impressed, but not stunned. “So, I guess Louis and I will talk it over and then call whoever—”

“Hold on,” Louis said, leaning forward in his chair. “What’s your last name?”

“Mine?” Harry pointed to himself. His other hand flopped down and he accidentally hit his strings, then quickly grabbed the neck to mute them. “Uh, Styles.”

“How old are you, Harry Styles?” Louis asked, keeping his voice pleasant.

“I’m eighteen,” he spoke quickly, but his voice had gotten high when he said it.

“Are you and your sister twins?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Liam was giving him an odd look as well. “What are you talking about, man?” he said.

“You remember Gemma, from high school, don’t you? His sister?”

“Oh, yeah. I suppose,” Liam nodded, but he didn’t seem too clear about where Louis was going with this. 

“I think I would’ve remembered seeing you at graduation if you were twins, though,” Louis continued. 

Harry kept staring, so Louis stared back.

“Just tell me, man, how old are you?”

“I just turned eighteen.” Harry’s tone was becoming stern, his gaze steady. It was quite obvious he wasn’t expecting to be questioned like this. “My sister just turned nineteen. We’re a year apart, and I’m about to graduate.”

“Do you have ID to prove that? Because that’s what the owners of the bars we play at are gonna ask for if we bring in a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kid like you. I mean, I know none of us can drink yet, but they don’t even let minors into the damn place. We can’t have a guitarist who can’t get into the venues. So, tell me, how old does it say you are on your licence?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Seventeen. But I turn eighteen next month.”

“Let me see your driver’s licence.” 

“I don’t have one.”

“You drove yourself here.”

Harry looked at his feet, yanking the cord from his guitar. He let it drop to the ground, a screech rolling out from the amp. “Thanks for the opportunity,” he said with a sarcastic bite to his tone. 

The others watched him as he lay his guitar back in his case and snapped the latches shut. He picked it up and slumped out of the shadow of the house and into the bright sunlight on the driveway. 

“You were kind of rough on him, don’t you think?” Liam said quietly over Louis’ shoulder. “Sure, he’s underage, but they’re not _actually_ going to check his ID. How many bar shows have we been to in high school? They don’t give a shit.”

“He’s still a kid,” Louis stressed, keeping his voice just as low.

“And you’ve been eighteen for, like, six months. Give him a break.”

Liam was right, and Louis could tell in the way Harry was strolling off with his shoulders hunched in defeat. A simple audition for a nobody band like this shouldn’t crush anyone’s dreams, but he seemed a little too young to realize that. When you haven’t had many opportunities, each one you get feels like the last.

“Wait!” Louis called out.

Harry stopped and turned halfway around to look at him.

“You’ve got a lot of talent, man. You should start your own band or something.”

Harry laughed with poorly masked bitterness. “I might be younger than you guys, but I’m just as good,” he said. “That gives me a head start.”

Once Harry was out of earshot, Louis scoffed as he turned back to Liam. He leaned into his chair, his arms crossed. “That kid’s got some attitude, huh?”

“Dunno,” Liam shrugged. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Yours seems to do you well.”

Liam looked up just to see Louis roll his eyes. He didn’t have a good enough answer for that, and if anything, his reaction proved Liam’s point.

Louis turned to Zayn, who was waiting patiently on the workbench along the sidewall. He got up from his chair and Liam followed him, both of them wearing grins. They took turns shaking Zayn’s hand.

“You’re in the band, man,” Louis told him, and for once, he really felt like they were on to something.

### 2019

A New York view during twilight would never cease to amaze Penny, especially not now as she gazed out the window overlooking the Manhattan sunset, a white tablecloth brushing against her legs as she ate mushroom risotto and off a gourmet charcuterie platter. 

“I was sixteen when I auditioned. I’d only gotten my license a week before.”

It was strange how quickly an interview with Harry Styles—a man who was once singing punk rock in arenas around the world and was now singing show tunes on Broadway—could feel like a conversation with an old friend. Someone from high school who you’d once talked to for hours with in a parked car, but now only saw on Facebook or Instagram. Where catching up once again was so easy once you found a flow.

Harry lifted his drink, but he didn’t take a sip. Scotch on the rocks. He said that, normally, he didn’t drink, but a scotch over a nice dinner just felt right. Next to his plate was a glass of water. Lemon, no ice. It was his second glass. Penny ordered the same, though she typically didn’t like drinking on the job. She quickly corrected herself before the waiter left, asking for it neat. No ice to melt. One drink was enough for tonight, and if she sipped slowly, she wouldn’t feel it too much when she was trying to pick her next questions.

The last time Penny was in a restaurant this fancy, it was for her tenth anniversary. In every relationship she ever had, anniversaries felt so arbitrary, especially for something like a first date. But when you were with someone for ten years and already had kids with them—a pair of twin boys who were quite a handful—anniversaries felt more special. A realization of how far you really made it together.

“Were you angry that they turned you down, even though the ad said they only wanted someone who was over eighteen?”

“Of course,” Harry laughed. “I was a dumb kid, but I thought I was the next big thing and they were crazy to reject my talents. I wasn’t _really_ as good as them.”

“But you _were_ the next big thing.”

Harry was too humble to agree. Penny knew he would be. This wasn’t the first time she sat across from him for a meal while talking about his career. They had met before for an interview back in the early aughts when his first solo album debuted. He was one of her favourite people to have interviewed because of his incredible insights on evolving music culture, but he never spoke of his own accomplishments. Just what he wanted to do next.

Harry still smiled and swirled his drink so the ice would clink against the glass. An act that seemed blasphemous in a place this upscale, but Harry wasn’t an upscale guy. He liked the idea of all things proper and lavish, but he sat with his elbow on the back of his chair, opening his suit jacket—no tie.

The waiter returned and asked if he could get them anything else. Harry asked for another glass of water, whenever the young man got the chance.

“And you, miss?”

“A water would be great, actually. With ice. Please.” The room wasn’t warm, but Penny’s nervous sweats still hadn’t gone away. She was grateful for her choice to wear a suit jacket of her own. Black, but with a light pink undershirt. A pop of colour without having to worry about underarm stains.

“I don’t think I was the next big thing. Fearless Doe was next, and we just came running after them.” He made a running motion with his arms in the air with a goofy smile. “Niall and I decided to put a group together after we graduated, but we had no idea what we were getting into with Q and Bex. All the bands coming out were full of guys with greasy hair who only shaved twice a week, and Fearless Doe was no exception. But these college freshmen answered our prayers. Just pure punk rock. Dripping in it. Q was a better guitarist than me by ten miles. That’s how I knew we stood a chance. Bex loved her bass, but she had this amazing voice, too. We had every piece we needed.”

Penny lifted her pen, scratching the side of it with her thumb just to keep her hands busy. “It’s not often you hear of bands who get it right the first time. You never lost or swapped out a member.”

“We lucked out.”

“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you got into Fearless Doe?”

“I thank God every day that I was sent packing.”

But he didn’t thank Louis, the person who turned him down.

The waiter returned with their waters, placing them gently and removing Harry’s empty glass. Penny took the opportunity to have another sip of her scotch. Just enough to taste it. 

“Thank you so much,” Harry said to the waiter. It took another moment after he left for them to speak again. Penny wasn’t used to a restaurant that played music so quietly. Or jazz, for that matter.

“There’s a photo of you and Louis backstage at the 1991 VMAs. Allegedly, that’s the first time Smudge and Fearless Doe officially met.”

Harry bit his lips together, smiling with just one cheek. “I never knew why that was thought of as such an exciting rumour. Yes, that was the first time we officially met. Well, technically it was at the afterparty.”

It was funny—Harry was nearing fifty, but there wasn’t a single grey hair on his head. Penny wondered if that was the work of a Broadway hairstylist.

“You had been the most comparable bands in music for a year leading up to it. The fact that you came from the same neighbourhood seemed almost too outlandish to be a coincidence. Why do you think it took so long for you to cross paths?”

With a moment to think the question over, Harry took a long drink of water, then leaned forward. He lifted a cracker topped with gouda and a folded slice of prosciutto and placed it on his plate. “Could you bring up that photo from the VMAs on your phone? I haven’t seen it in years.”

“Oh! Sure,” Penny said, turning to dig in her purse that she had hung over her chair. 

Harry took the opportunity to eat his cracker in one careful bite. When she held out the phone for him to see, he brushed his hands off on the cloth napkin, then took it from her loose grasp. In the photo, Louis was speaking to his bandmate, Zayn, with his shoulder resting against the concrete wall. The photographer was following behind Harry and co. as they made their way to the stage for their performance. He snapped the photo just as Louis was turning around to tap Harry’s shoulder.

“You know,” Harry said with a breath of laughter, “the funniest part of this was that he was the one who recognized me.”

### 1991

“How’s your twin sister?”

The light flashed behind Harry’s head as his eyes found Louis Tomlinson, lead singer of the biggest winners of the night. He was smiling smugly at him and retreating his hand from Harry’s shoulder while making absolutely no sense.

Harry stopped, letting everyone he was with keep going. “What twin sister?”

“Sorry, she was a year older, wasn’t she? It was a few years ago, hard to remember what you told me.”

Harry let out a laugh, his confusion shifting gears as he scratched the side of his head. “How do you even remember that?”

Louis shrugged, having to push his fringe out of his eyes to see. This was a time when young men and scissors never really got along. “Your audition was hard to forget.”

Harry didn’t know what he was supposed to say. It was strange seeing Louis again—or having Louis acknowledge him at all, for that matter. Harry had two different versions of him in his head: the eighteen-year-old kid from his school who turned him down without batting an eye, and the twenty-two-year-old rock star that had taken over radio, TV, the country, and the world. Really, Harry never knew either version of him, but he paid attention. He watched the performances during school dances, he listened to the albums that came much later, and he’d seen the way the band entertained a crowd with perfectly orchestrated apathy. He got it. It was obvious that Fearless Doe was changing the game, but they didn’t even know it, nor did they care. That was why they were here, and that was how Smudge started walking in their footsteps, struggling to catch up without getting too close. Like a hunter in the woods, too afraid to pull the trigger.

Harry wasn’t trying to change the game, he just wanted to play it.

“What are you, stopping for a breather?” Niall said, rushing over when he realized Harry was no longer behind him. He had to dodge the crew as he ran down the hall, but he stopped when he noticed who caused the distraction.

“Louis Tom— Louis? H-Hey, how’s— How are—”

Niall stopped, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably and hoping Louis got the gist of his greeting. Two years in the business and Niall still never knew how to talk to a face he’d once seen on the cover of a record. Harry didn’t know how to save him, so he had to let him choke.

“Niall, right?” Louis said, that smug smile never faltering.

“Yeah, um. Great to meet you. Big fan. But, Harry, we gotta go.” Niall pointed both thumbs toward where their manager was giving them the death stare. “We’re kinda performing on national TV in about two minutes.”

“Nice to see you,” Harry said to Louis, offering a sheepish wave as he turned around.

“Wait,” Zayn called, and Harry looked over his shoulder, Niall in front of him giddy to keep moving. “You guys coming to Courtney’s party after the show?”

“You mean Courtney Lo—?”

“We’ll try to find you there. Introduce ourselves properly,” Zayn said. 

Louis turned his head to whisper something to Zayn, but Harry couldn’t see his lips moving.

“HARRY! NIALL! LET’S GO!”

“We’ll see you there,” Niall said, then he grabbed Harry by the shoulders to get him out of there, pushing him until they were both running to catch up.

They played well that night, but it wasn’t one of their best. Smudge had a new single out called “Getting Worse,” which was getting a ton of airplay, which meant everyone in the crowd knew the song. But Harry couldn’t get out of his head. Not to mention it was their first major award show and technically the biggest audience they ever played to if you counted the people at home. How could he get stage fright when he couldn’t even see half the people who were watching him perform?

Fearless Doe stole the show because they always did. They closed the night with their own most recent single, “Class Act,” which was on track to be the highest-selling single of the year. Everyone’s eyes were on them. Especially at the end of their performance when Louis made his famous declaration.

At the end of the song, just as the final chord was ringing out, Louis wrapped both his arms around his mic, looked directly into the camera, and shouted “FUCK THE PRESIDENT!” Thanks to the delay, his mic was cut before the audio could be broadcasted, and that was the only reason MTV ever let them back. That, and the amount of money their presence alone would make for the station. But the camera didn’t cut, and everyone watching could read his lips loud and clear. And then it _did_ cut because Louis was giving the president the finger on national television.

When asked about why he did it in a later interview, Louis said, “The president doesn’t care if gay people live or die, so I’d like to extend that sentiment back to him.”

He got a lot of heat for that one—the media absolutely devoured it—but Louis never once apologized.

By now, Harry was used to LA parties. He wouldn’t say he particularly liked them, but he was used to them. This was one of those penthouse hotel after-parties, which were more tolerable than big club events, but not by much. There were more places to escape to in a hotel, and that was exactly what he did.

The lighting was far too dark like someone had fallen on the dimmer switch and no one had bothered to fix it. But that was what it felt like to navigate a party with a cloudy mind, bouncing around from place to place and person to person. Harry had made a few friends in one of the bedrooms, names of which he would never remember, though he was sure he recognized the girl with the high black ponytail and choppy bangs from somewhere. A singer, maybe? Guitarist?

He was sitting on the end of the bed as he raised his head to the sky, pinching his nose closed with two fingers. Once he sniffed a few times, feeling the burn in the back of his throat, Harry took the tray from the guy sitting next to him. The next line lost its shape, so to fix it he used the… was it a library card? Who was using a library card to cut lines?

Harry watched the guy sniff. He watched his hair fall out of his eyes, his jaw clench, his adam’s apple bob. Harry had just been in the bathroom with him about ten minutes ago—water running, door locked. He could still see the faint red spots down the bulging vein in his neck. Surely they would be much more noticeable tomorrow.

What was this guy’s name again?

A hand touched Harry’s shoulder, then someone fell on their knees next to them.

“I need a drink,” Q said, wasting no time before she was already helping him to his feet. Harry felt a bolt of electricity slash through his body as blood rushed to his head and the effects started to take hold. The guy sitting next to him barely noticed him leave.

Q dragged him to the bar and ordered two vodka shots and two beers. Mixing never was a good idea, but Harry was already pretty drunk when he took his first bump tonight, anyway.

“Have you seen any of them yet?” Q wondered as she picked up the shot glass. They downed them at the same time, Harry cringing because he always hated the taste. He would not have picked vodka.

“No, but who knows if they even showed up.” He chased the shot with a sip of beer, though it wasn’t his favourite, either. A second shot might’ve gone down nicer.

“That’s true. Everyone in this industry is a fucking flake.” There was humour in her voice when she said it. Q was blunt, not mean.

“You never show up to parties like this when you get invited.”

“Exactly. I’m no exception. But Bex ditched me for the night, so I thought I’d tag along.”

“C’mon, it’s cute that she likes to celebrate with her family.” They hadn’t won that year, though they were nominated for Breakthrough Video and Best Alternative Video. Receiving two nominations at their first award show was worth celebrating, Harry supposed.

“It’d be cuter if her girlfriend was allowed to come along.”

Harry sighed, wrapping a comforting arm over her shoulders. They started lapping the room, keeping close to the wall where it was less dense with bodies. “You know she’ll come out to them when she’s ready. They’re good people, she just needs more time.”

“But it would be nice to get to know them in the meantime. Can’t they think we’re just close ‘BFFs’ or whatever straight people mistake lesbians for?”

“Have you talked to her about that?”

“It’s a hard conversation to have. Especially when the label wants us to be single.”

“The label doesn’t care if you date someone. They just don’t want you to date each other,” he pointed out, a bitterness to his tone.

“Oh, the joys of the homophobic entertainment industry,” she said, a wide sarcastic grin on her face as she threw an arm around him in return.

“Shh! There are execs all over the place!” Harry said, laughing because that was how they decided to cope with it long ago. It was such a joke that it was happening, so they decided to treat it like one. But it wasn’t funny. It just wasn’t fun to be mad all the time.

“Please, Courtney isn’t letting any big bosses into this kind of party.”

“You two are on a first-name basis now?” Harry teased, and Q just about tripped while laughing, which would’ve sent both of them toppling over. Her drink was already spilling over her hand.

“Harry!” he heard just as the face matching the voice approached them, snaking his way through the crowd. “Good to see Smudge decided to make an appearance,” Louis said with an unreadable smile, drink at his hip. “You remember Liam.”

“Yes,” Harry said, trying to centre his mind. He realized, not quickly enough, that he was staring at Liam too intently.

Q leaned over, noting how dilated his eyes had become since she had caught him with that tray in his hands, and gave him a friendly nudge in the ribs.

Harry stuck out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve formally met.”

“We haven’t.” Liam shook it politely. It was a business handshake, not a friendly one. By now, Harry could tell the difference in a second. “I know you though, of course. It feels like the whole world discovered you guys overnight.”

“And you’re Q,” Louis said to her with a smile, shaking her hand as well. “I’ve been wondering, though: stage names?”

“Bex and I use stage names, yeah,” she said. “It’s way more fun that way.”

Louis breathed a laugh. “And somehow ‘Harry Styles’ is real,” he said, his eyes scanning Harry from head to toe. But at the time, Harry didn’t notice. Too much of his energy was split between focusing his ears and trying to keep his vision clear.

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Q snorted. “No, that name is as fake as the leather on these boots. He’s just managed to trick the world.”

Louis gave them both a strange look. “Has he?”

“She’s kidding,” Harry said, giving her a light nudge right back. Q had a strange sense of humour and was never quite aware of her audience. As long as she was amused—and embarrassing Harry—she didn’t care.

“Is the rest of your band here?” Liam wondered.

“Niall’s around here, somewhere,” Harry said, pointing a thumb behind him. Niall showing up to any party always turned into a disappearing act.

“Why don’t you find him and then meet us up on the roof? I’ll snag a bottle of champagne from the bar and we’ll celebrate your win,” Louis offered.

“Oh,” Harry started, “but we didn’t—”

“We’ll see you up there in five,” Louis grinned, patting Harry’s back as he and Liam strolled away. For some reason, the brief brush of Louis’ fingers against his shirt left Harry with a feeling of unease.

Harry watched them leave, looking over Q’s shoulder until they disappeared far enough into the crowd. “Okay, that was weird, right? I mean, I heard that they were weird, but I assumed it was, like, the same way my grandparents see my career, you know?”

Q just stared at him with a pitiful smile. “You have a little dust on your shirt,” she said.

Harry looked down, not immediately realizing what she meant. The collar of his shirt was loose and stretched. His jacket was long gone, but at the moment, he had no desire to search for it. 

Her comment clicked in his mind as she pulled his arm along with her.

It was a party, okay?

Niall wasn’t easy to drag away. He found a guitar and a couch and an audience to listen to him play. That was him in his element at a party. Singing acoustic covers of Bruce Springsteen to anyone who would listen, even when there was music playing over the speakers already. Harry and Q didn’t give him much of a choice in abandoning his post. Fearless Doe just asked them to share a bottle of champagne on the roof for god knows what reason. How could they turn them down?

A series of doors and two staircases took them to the roof where a lavish patio was set up, complete with cushioned wicker couches around a gaslit fire pit, and a clear shelter held up with white pillars. It wasn’t just that the rooftop was hardly occupied. Besides Louis, Liam, and Zayn, who just noticed their arrival and were calling them over, the space was completely empty.

They took turns introducing each other and exchanging in praise over albums and performances. Everyone was acting like each other's biggest fan, which was just how it worked in the industry. Compliments all around when you try to make friends—or connections. When Harry first started out, he didn’t feel it as much around his hometown of Seattle. More people seemed to truly care about the music and the bonds instead of the money, but maybe he was just naive. He wanted to believe that friendship was what these guys were after, but considering where they were, that strange feeling in his gut never went away.

Louis didn’t bring glasses for the champagne, so they just passed the bottle around the fire, tilting it up by its neck to drink. It gave Harry the feeling of being back in high school in some friend’s backyard, passing around half a bottle of cheap wine they found in their parents’ fridge.

Typically, when they did that, he was never this high.

Harry was sitting on one of the long wicker couches next to Louis, his legs folded in as he stared at the fire. He knew better than to believe it, but his mind was trying to convince him he was swimming through the flames. The six of them were sharing stories of life and their careers, both bands having come from the same place and headed on their way up. That made Harry wonder if this really was just a chance to get to know each other. A casual chat with people who knew what it was like, but who they didn’t have to see on a daily basis. He wished Bex wasn’t missing out on this. She may have hated parties, but this was far more enjoyable than whatever was happening downstairs.

God, Harry hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to give that guy his number. 

“Do you want to go look at the view?” Louis leaned closer to ask Harry as he passed him the champagne. It was clear this question was directed at only him, so Harry shrugged his shoulders as he tilted the bottle up, and said sure as he handed it off to Q.

He followed Louis to the metal bar that was wrapped around the perimeter of the patio. In front of them, stretching into the distance, were the bright lights of downtown LA and the faint sight of the hills in the distance. Even at midnight, there was traffic, but then again, the award show venue was only a few blocks away. There was something calming about the contrast between the quiet up here and all the activity down below. Harry tried hard not to look down for too long. Just straight ahead so that he wasn’t tricked into thinking he was falling. They both hunched forward against the bar, staring at the view when Louis spoke. 

“You guys are making some great music,” he said. “Seriously. I knew you had talent when you were sixteen, but it’s really cool to see you were able to make something of it.”

“You guys, too,” Harry told him sincerely. The wind around them offered a comforting chill. “You’re one of the biggest bands in the country, so obviously you guys have something special.”

For some reason, it seemed Louis wasn’t particularly interested in compliments. He looked at Harry, his eyes narrow. “Your recent single, ‘Getting Worse,’ that’s been a huge hit, huh? I feel like I hear it everywhere.”

“Yeah, it’s our most played song on the radio so far. Pretty sick,” Harry said passively.

“But you worked with another songwriter on that, didn’t you? Rick Cade?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve worked with him before and he’s become a friend. This album has felt like a monster to create, so we brought in some help to make it the best it could be.”

“Oh, I’m not judging you for working with other songwriters,” Louis assured him. “I do the same thing. I’ve actually worked with Rick Cade, myself.”

“Have you?” Harry said, surprised that Rick had never mentioned it through all the months they spent in the studio together.

“Actually, the last time I saw him, we were working on this song called ‘Wise Guy.’” 

And then Louis sang a short line to the chorus Harry knew too well. The one he’d been singing at every show they played over the last two months, and the one they played to the country tonight. “ _They called me a wise guy, honey, but my mind’s_ getting worse.”

Harry closed his eyes tight in confusion, shaking his head back and forth a few times. “Hold on, what is this? What are you—”

“You and your label are making money off my song,” Louis said, the friendly tone completely disappearing as he straightened his posture, “and I’m getting nothing.”

All at once, Harry felt the blood rushing to his face. He took a step back, scrambling to come up with a response. “This is ridiculous. Rick and I wrote that song together. We were in his studio and I’m the one who wrote the lyrics down. He didn’t even touch the page.”

“Just because he didn’t have the physical copy doesn’t mean he didn’t have them in his head,” Louis reasoned. “Think about it. Did you even come up with the words when you were writing with him or was he just spoon-feeding them to you?”

Harry blinked, his eyebrows raised at such a patronizing comment. “What kind of threat do you see us as?” his voice was getting louder. “You sell twice as many records as we do. What possible reason could you have to sabotage us?”

“ _Sabotage_?” Louis stepped away, looking baffled. “This isn’t about sales numbers or money. I wrote that song and you’re profiting off it. It’s my intellectual property.”

“Do you have the demo to prove it?”

“I—” Louis froze, considering his words. He turned his back to Harry and spun completely around on one foot. “Look, I invited you here because I thought we could talk this out in a civil manner without bringing lawyers into this. Artist to artist.”

“No,” Harry pointed a finger at Louis’ chest, “you tried to ambush us. You can’t just walk up to me and claim ownership of a song that I wrote for _my_ band!”

“I really did not think you would be this difficult to deal with,” Louis said, talking to himself more than Harry as he looked around in exhaustion. “Why would I make a false claim?”

“Do you still have the demo, or not? Without the demo, it’s a false claim.”

For a moment, Louis said nothing. He just held Harry’s glare, deciding his next move. Harry’s heart was racing, his fight-or-flight instinct in full fight mode. How else was he supposed to react when someone was suddenly in his face, accusing him of stealing a song that he wrote? Harry wasn’t stupid; he knew why Louis was coming to him personally. No proof, no case, when it came to the law. He was creating a story.

“Fine,” Louis said, keeping his voice steady. “If you want to do it that way, I’ll call my lawyers.”

“Fine,” Harry shrugged. “The most either of us is going to get out of this is publicity.”

“In that case, you should be thanking me.”

Harry let a scoff escape his throat, then just shook his head slowly as he turned on his heel. There was nothing left he had to say to him. If Louis wanted to battle it out in court, so be it. Harry knew the song was his. Whatever Louis’ motivation was for his claim, Harry decided he didn’t care. 

He stormed away without another word or even so much as a glance in the direction of the others, who were watching him escape to the exit in quick strides. The chatter around him had gotten noticeably quieter. Silent, actually, except for the crackle of the fire. Harry felt a little dizzy when he reached the door, his eyes trying too hard to focus on everything around him. He felt too fucked up and not fucked up enough all at once. He needed something. Another bump. Another shot. Anything.

When Harry got to the first set of stairs inside, he felt someone take his arm, so he turned around in a huff. Until then, he didn’t even realize how heavy he was breathing.

“What happened?” Q asked. Niall was standing right behind her, their shoulders overlapping as he mirrored her concern.

Harry let out a sigh, loud and breathy as his head hit the wall behind him. “I think we’re about to get sued.”

### 2019

The kettle was whistling loudly, so Louis stood from the kitchen table to turn off the stove. After an hour of telling stories, he was feeling a little restless and suggested they make some more tea while they continued. His kitchen was massive and bright, even on a cloudy day, from the wall of windows next to it. Louis didn’t often make eye contact when he spoke, and Penny could tell that he, instead, would watch the raindrops race down the glass. Every part of him looked distracted, but his mind was entirely in the words he was saying.

“We did sue them,” Louis said as he poured the boiling water into the teapot. “But it settled outside of court.” 

Penny found it interesting that he let it steep in a pot the same way her grandmother would when she went to visit her, instead of letting the tea bag sit in a mug. 

Louis brought an entire tray to the table, complete with a milk saucer, sugar cubes, and a plate of cookies. Penny was quite flattered by the hospitality.

“The lawsuit made headlines,” Penny said, filling in the blanks of Louis’ words. “It called into question the character of everyone in the band. Namely, Harry because he claimed he wrote it.”

“He wrote the music, but a different melody didn’t change the fact that those were my lyrics, word for word.” He sat down across from her, settling into his chair and resting his elbows on the arms before he poured. The table was a stained natural wood, like a log cabin. Penny liked how a house this big could be decorated to feel so cozy.

“But you settled for two million because you had no concrete proof, just a songwriter who couldn’t tell a clear story. It was your word against theirs.”

Louis smiled. “You’ve done your research.”

Penny had done so, so much research. The tabs on her computer had been open for months, her notebook nearly full.

“They couldn’t go to court without the demo, and I couldn’t provide it. To be frank, I didn’t think the song was good enough when I wrote it, but clearly, Rick thought otherwise. It wasn’t about credit, it was about principle. I wanted Harry and the rest of Smudge to know what he did, and once I got my way, I decided to settle.”

“So why did you destroy the demo, in the first place? Was it just because you hated the song?”

“Look, I never wanted this to go to court. It was going to ruin Smudge’s reputation if we won, and royalties were not worth the guilt of hurting someone else’s career, even if the guy was being an arrogant prick. When I told Harry, I was angry and I thought he knew what he did, but it was obvious by the look on his face that Rick was the only guy to blame.”

“Do you think he got so upset with the accusation because he was still holding some resentment from the audition? It was the only time he met you, so surely the bad first impression stuck around.”

“I can’t speak for him.”

Penny thought a “but” was coming, but instead, Louis just leaned forward to lift the teapot with two hands. He poured hers first, leaving room for milk, then his own. There must’ve been milk in the bottom of his cup because the liquid swirled into a dark sandy colour at the top.

“The damage was still done to Smudge’s reputation, though,” Penny pointed out. “As soon as you publicly claim someone lied, half the country believes it.”

“And the other half thinks the guy spreading rumours just wants attention. I got just as much flack for the story, if not more since I never blacklisted it in interviews. I wasn’t going to slander their name, but I didn’t want to be seen as the liar. Smudge had a good PR team, so they kept quiet. That’s what happens when you’re that young and gain popularity that fast. What took us four years to achieve in our careers, they got in less than two.” 

“Do you regret speaking up?”

“Not at all,” Louis said, quickly and firmly. “I got my apology, in the end.”

Penny tilted her head curiously. “When was that?”

### 1992

Four years in, Fearless Doe had one EP and two albums out, and they were working on a third. Their success didn’t feel much like a fantasy anymore; it felt like a job. Some moments still had that magic spark, like every time they played to a sold-out arena, or found that moment when they were recording a track that made them feel like they just uncovered one of the universe’s little secrets. A string of layered chords whose discovery was meant to give you chills. But sometimes a day at the studio or a day of promo just felt like going into the office.

Louis was lucky to have this be his career, but as soon as the thing you love becomes an obligation, it’s hard to love it all the time. He did still love it, but he loved some days more than others. 

At this point in the process, the album had been passed off to producers to be mixed. That’s when it was out of Louis’ hands, except for when it came time to review it. He always felt a little uneasy, around this time, that the music he just spent the last six months pouring his heart into might not be nearly as good as he imagined. Nothing gets an artist down quite like the failed execution of an idea that sounded brilliant in their mind.

When there was about a month left until the album was set to go into manufacturing, Louis was called in by his producer to do a few more vocal lines for layering. It was just him alone in the booth, which was never as fun as jamming with the guys, but that would come this summer on their international tour—their biggest one yet. It would be a hectic year, but this felt like the last thing he’d be checking off his career bucket list. Maybe a stadium tour one day, but that was something he hadn’t even imagined until their second album came out, and even then it still felt like a pipe dream. 

Once Louis had wrapped things up, his producer, Mick, offered to walk him out. He was in need of a bit of air for his smoke break. 

“Any plans for the night?” Mick asked as they strolled side-by-side down the long carpeted halls of the label’s biggest studio. Fearless Doe hadn’t actually written any songs here since the first EP came out. Two years ago, the band bought an acreage in Oregon to use as a studio, so writing the albums had become a true creative escape. When they went out there, Louis was always the last to go home. Sometimes he’d spend an extra week just for the quiet time alone.

“I sort of have a date,” Louis said, freeing one hand from his pocket to scratch the side of his head.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not, really. It’s just a date. Dinner at my house. Casual.”

“At your house? Yeah, sounds real casual,” Mick said, giving him a playful nudge. “Who’s the girl? How’d you meet? Do I know her?”

Louis cleared his throat, his stare landing on his shoes as he shrugged his shoulders. “No, no. Just an old friend.” 

The truth was, it really _was_ a casual hangout. He didn’t do dates out in public anymore, especially now that there were people who cared about who he was seeing, for some reason. Fame or not, he could assure everyone that there was truly nothing exciting about his dating life.

Scandalous for the times, maybe. But not exciting.

When he walked the halls of any studio, Louis had a habit of subtly peeking into the windows of each room. He was always curious to know who else was recording, from the legends to the up-and-comers. Sometimes, if he had a moment, he liked to stop in and see what others were working on—find out who was set to be the next big thing. 

But then he stopped, a familiar face catching his eye through the narrow window pane.

“You go on without me,” Louis told Mick, who had gotten two steps ahead. “I know these guys. I’m just gonna say hi.”

Mick slowed to a halt, his smile falling when he glanced through the window. “You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

“Nope. I’ll see you on Thursday, Mick.”

With the shake of his head, Mick just laughed, then he gave a parting wave as he shuffled backwards. “Don’t forget to be a gentleman tonight!” he said, spinning on his heel.

“Sure thing,” Louis muttered distractedly to himself as he lifted his hand to knock.

But then he froze because he realized this _was_ a stupid idea. What reason did he have to go inside? They weren’t friends. They hadn’t spoken in months and the last time, he was pretty sure, was through lawyers. As far as Louis knew, the settlement landed them on okay terms, but ‘okay’ didn’t mean good. What would they think of him barging in on them like this, acting like they were friends all along? But his hand was already rising to knock, and before he knew it, the quiet laughter stopped and the door was opening.

Niall was the one standing on the other side, a crease between his eyebrows when he registered who he was looking at. Louis smiled with his lips bitten together, eyebrows raised. “Hey, man,” he said.

“Hey,” Niall said slowly, turning to look behind him and then back. “What’s going on?”

The door opened wider when Harry walked up behind Niall to see who he was talking to. Louis didn’t know what he expected for a reaction. Something pleasant, he hoped. Civil, even. But he hated that this limbo they all had found themselves in. They were colleagues if nothing else. They’d be running into each other for the rest of their careers. The least they could do was be on friendly terms.

“Hi,” Harry said, rather pointedly. “Can we help you?”

He was wearing a long-sleeve green shirt with a thick yellow stripe wrapped around it, the collar bright white. Harry had cut his hair since the last time they saw each other, which was at a restaurant in LA when Fearless Doe was conducting some meetings and Harry was out to dinner with a few friends. At the time, they didn’t speak to each other. Liam went over to say hi to Niall just before they left, but that was the extent of their interaction.

There was no doubt that Smudge had changed their look altogether, especially since they had been signed over to Filter Records. Back in Seattle, the bands who were just starting out came off as almost grimy, never thinking to put any care into their appearances. It made sense when you remembered that they were all a bunch of angst-filled teenagers who turned to music to escape the world. But once these bands got popular, they changed with the fame and the money. Everyone liked to claim they still had those working-class morals, and maybe they did, but they were still getting treated like they were untouchable. That’s what was happening to bands like Smudge and Fearless Doe. Maybe it was just that they were maturing, but every time Louis saw Liam and Zayn after a few weeks away, or a band on TV with their next music video, they were slowly becoming cleaner cut. More mainstream. More marketable. It was just business.

“I thought I’d just drop by to say that I really liked your new album,” Louis told them. It was Smudge’s second album and had the highest critical acclaim they’d achieve until their final record years later. “The direction you’re taking your sound feels really original and needed right now. And I love that you can hear those sixties inspirations in it.” He paused, thinking Niall or Harry might say something else. When they didn’t, instead just staring at him to see if he was finished, Louis said, “Great job, guys,” then started to turn around. 

He knew this was a bad idea. They didn’t care what he had to say, even if it was praise. Who could blame them?

“Thanks,” Harry said before Louis could take a step. “You have a new single coming out soon, don’t you?”

He turned back. “Next week,” Louis said, now wondering if he had been able to start melting the ice between them. Breaking it didn’t seem like an option.

“You must be excited for it.”

Louis shrugged. “I suppose so.” Honestly, sometimes he forgot when a new song was about to release until he heard it on the radio a few days later. Singles were just advertisements for the album. He still loved those songs, but something about their purpose felt dirty. 

Niall left the doorway to sit back in his chair behind the mixing board. Louis could now see that they had been alone in this room. “What are you working on?” he wondered.

Harry left the door open as he backed into the room, walking over to his own chair where a water bottle had stolen his seat. Louis took that as an implied invitation to come in and closed the door behind him.

“We’re just messing around, mostly. We have a meeting in a bit,” Harry said.

In the corner of the room next to the back cupboard was a third chair—stationary, not swivel—so Louis pulled it up. “Oh, the thrills of promo season,” he said. But then he realized that these guys were still new enough to making music that promoting their hard work might still be enjoyable. Louis was the jaded one.

“What were you doing here?” Niall wondered. He had a pair of headphones back around his neck, the cord dangling down his shoulder.

“Recording extra vocal layering. Nothing exciting,” Louis admitted, but he wondered why no one had addressed the elephant in the room yet. Shooting the shit like old pals didn’t feel right here.

Luckily, it seemed Harry was thinking the same thing.

“Look, Louis, maybe we should talk. Artist to artist,” he said.

Niall’s eyes widened as his head snapped towards Harry. “Right now?”

“After all the legal disputes, we never actually apologized for what happened,” Harry continued.

“Hold on,” Niall tried to cut in, “maybe this isn’t the time to—” 

“I didn’t come here expecting an apology,” Louis told him. Not aggressively, just truthfully. “But you’re right, we should. It would be kind of weird if we kept tiptoeing around each other. The lawsuit is already going to follow us forever.”

Niall spoke up once more. “Maybe if everyone else was here—”

“I am sorry though,” Harry said. “I was thinking about it from your perspective and I’d be pretty pissed if I tried to be fair in a situation like this and the other person didn’t even try to cooperate.”

Niall stood lazily from his chair, grabbing the empty mug that was next to him. “I’m getting more coffee,” he said in defeat.

Harry muttered an “okay,” still directing all of his attention at Louis. When the door shut behind him, the room felt quieter.

“I thought you were an asshole,” Louis told him. “You didn’t give a shit that you were playing someone else’s song. Yeah, I got settlement money, but it’s still going to be Smudge’s biggest hit.”

Harry’s gaze fell to his hands, his jaw clenching as he swallowed. “They were your lyrics—well, the chorus was—but it’s still our song. If it was your song, you would have recorded it.”

Louis knew Harry was right. The song was Smudge’s biggest hit, but Fearless Doe’s biggest hit was bigger. It was international. Louis didn’t need that song. But he didn’t want it to be given away, either.

The thing was, Smudge’s version was better. Harry knew how to create a hook. There were moments in their songs that blew Louis away. He couldn’t sit there and pretend that Smudge was making money off his work. Those words were nothing before Harry got his hands on them.

“Why did you think I was trying to sabotage you?”

Harry looked taken aback. “ _Sabotage_ us?”

“When we were on the roof at that VMA afterparty, you accused me of sabotage. What made you think that I would pull some copyright claim out of my ass just to screw you guys over?”

Their chairs were on opposite sides of the room. Louis sat low in his, elbows propped up and hands folded together as he watched Harry think of an answer. Harry had his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. The way he was twisting his lips between his fingers, Louis could tell Harry remembered just as well as he did.

“I don’t think I meant it. But I did feel threatened, I’ll admit that. Whatever you pulled that night, it felt like an act. You invited us to that party and told us to come up to the roof so we could hang out and get to know each other, then you laid all these accusations on me and threatened us with a lawsuit. It felt manipulative.”

“That wasn’t my intention at all,” Louis quickly defended. “I thought that if we were on good terms, it would be an easier conversation to have.”

“But you were already angry. It’s hard to be reasonable when you’re angry.”

Louis took a deep breath, dropping his hands to his lap. “I was fucking pissed.”

“So you can understand why it felt like an attack. Instead of explaining a misunderstanding, you told me we were profiting off a song that we stole. You can’t tell me you didn’t know that conversation would end in an argument.”

Harry was staring at him so intently. His eyes were earnest. This wasn’t a conversation he was having out of obligation. Harry wanted to talk this out. They owed nothing to each other but human decency, yet Harry still wanted to understand what went wrong. Louis did too, but when it came to his dignity, the least he could do was keep his pride.

Then again, he thought he was too proud to settle, but two million dollars and a stomach full of guilt said otherwise.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Harry,” Louis began, leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. “I don’t like you. I don’t think you like me, either. But I have a hell of a lot of respect for you.

Harry didn’t seem overly surprised by his admission. “And why is that, if you don’t like me?”

“Because you know that you’re good. You’re talented and successful, but you don’t tell anyone else that. You show them, then you don’t take no for an answer. When you were sixteen, you tried to tell me, and when I said no, that wasn’t good enough for you. So, you got better and you proved it.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth curled up as a hefty breath came through his nose. “You’re giving yourself a lot of credit.”

“Well, you’ve never seemed to want to give me any. I’m right, though, aren’t I? Rejection does the right person well.”

“You weren’t the first person to reject me and you certainly haven’t been the last.”

“It all contributes, doesn’t it?”

Harry was still smiling, but it was a sly smile. Louis wished he could tell what he was thinking because he was sure it would’ve made this conversation even more interesting. It probably had something to do with how much of an ass Louis was being right now.

“You are right about one thing,” Harry finally said. “I don’t like you, either. But I can also respect a guy who’s willing to tell someone that right to their face without getting anything out of it.”

Louis smiled too because at least he got one thing out of this: closure.

By then, Louis felt they’d said everything they needed to stay. Both sides of the story were out there and they knew where they stood: friendly, but not friends. And that was good enough for Louis. So, he stood up, told Harry that it was nice talking to him, and turned to leave. 

But at that same moment, the door opened and Louis watched Harry’s face fall before he could even see who was at the door.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late, Harry— Oh.”

The second Liam and Louis looked at each other, both pairs of eyes grew wide.

“Wha—? What are you doing here?!” Louis burst.

Liam parted his lips to speak, but there was only one reason you met up with someone at a studio. To betray your best friend and bandmate, apparently.

Niall stumbled in behind Liam, realizing he was much too late to give any sort of warning. All he could do once he sensed the tension in the room was say, “I told you guys this conversation should’ve waited,” though it didn’t seem to help much.

Louis stormed out of the room without another word. No one followed him, not even Liam, and he preferred it that way. He shoved open the main doors to the studio and turned on his heel to the payphone on the corner of the building. There was only one person he wanted to talk to about this. He pushed the coins into the slot hastily, heart racing as he waited through the rings. 

“Did you know about this?” Louis demanded as soon as he heard the hello from the other end.

“Know about what?” Zayn said, sounding annoyed more than confused.

“Did you know that Liam has been writing with Smudge?”

“He’s been _what_?”

“Betraying us to work with the people who stole our song!”

“Hold on,” Zayn said. Louis could hear shuffling on the other side like he was getting up to leave a room. A door slid closed and it sounded like he had moved out onto the balcony of his condo. “How did you find out? Did he tell you?”

Louis explained how he had gone into the studio to finish up a track when he ran into half of Smudge. He told him about the conversation they had and how Liam walked in right at the end of it, and that Harry and Niall seemed to be expecting him.

“This just happened now?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re outside the studio?”

“Yes.”

“Where you and Harry just made a truce to get along?”

“Sort of.”

“Sometimes you have the tendency to overreact, did you know that?”

Louis huffed, though the answer was yes, he was well aware that he could be a tad dramatic when the situation warranted it.

“I thought he had my back, man. Collaborating like this—with them—it makes me feel like a fucking joke. He could’ve _told me,_ at the very least.”

“He probably knew you’d get mad about it. That’s why he didn’t say anything,” Zayn reasoned.

“Yeah, and I’m still mad now. It’s not like I wouldn’t find out.”

“You know that he and Niall hang out sometimes. They’re good friends.”

“That’s not the same thing as working together.”

“I think you need to talk to Liam before you decide to break up the band over it.”

Louis scoffed. “I’m not breaking up the band. Obviously.”

“Then go back in there and sort it out with him and call me when everyone’s getting along again.”

Louis turned around, leaning against the brick building behind him. The California sun felt blinding this late in the day, so he rested his free hand over his eyes. “I can’t go back in there. I have a date tonight.”

“Blow it off.”

He sighed, knowing Zayn was right. His anger was spring-loaded. All he had to do was talk this out with Liam and they could sort everything out. But that didn’t change the fact that Smudge also went behind his back to work with his number one co-writer. And that’s something that he couldn’t get over quite as easily.

Louis didn’t go back in there. Instead, he went on his date and forced himself to forget about it for the night. 

The next week, he fought with Liam until Zayn could referee them out of it, telling them they were both acting ridiculous. Liam shouldn’t have gone behind their backs, but Louis had no right to force them all into his conflicts. Then again, Louis had every right to be upset, and maybe Liam should’ve been more supportive.

Eventually, they managed to work it out. No real grudges within the band, but Louis spent the next year dwelling on the complete lack of respect from Smudge. He decided, in that end, that he was right about Harry all along. First impressions count, after all.

### 2019

The dessert plates sat nearly empty between them, about a quarter left on Harry’s and just crumbs on Penny’s, her spoon placed upside down next to it. When the waiter first dropped off the shiny purple dome-shaped treats, Penny examined hers curiously. Harry asked if she’d ever tried it before. She shook her head.

“They’re really cool. You hit the top of it with the back of your spoon and it crumbles. There’s mousse on the inside.” He seemed quite excited to break into his. There was a curl of white chocolate on top and what looked to be flakes of gold around it. Penny didn’t want to know how much it cost.

“Did you still end up working with Liam after Louis found out about it?” Penny asked, leaning back in her chair and taking a gulp of water to mild the sweetness in her mouth.

Harry was poking at bits of mousse with his fork, scooping up tiny pieces to lick off. “We did, but nothing came of it. Liam’s a great writer, but most writing sessions result in nothing usable, anyway.”

“You stayed in contact, though?”

“I think Niall did, and I saw Liam sometimes.”

“But not with the rest of them?”

“I hadn’t gotten to know Zayn at the time. Louis and I had a pretty good understanding that we were not friends.”

“And you were happy with leaving things that way?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it. Being friendly with each other seemed better than feuding.” His eyes flickered up as he dropped the fork gently. “Although, the media saw that much differently. In their eyes, you don’t come back from a story like that lawsuit. There’s no reconciliation. They’re not interested in who’s friends. They want to know who’s fighting, who’s fucking, and who kicked the bucket. Look at some of the biggest moments in pop culture: the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. The world wanted them in a boxing ring, they claimed Mick Jagger bedded half of the state of California, and John Lennon’s death was one of the biggest stories since Kennedy. Or, how about Sid and Nancy? It’s tragic, no doubt, but they were all three wrapped into one. Same with Kurt and Courtney. I’m not saying that our little copyright dispute compares to them, but that’s what they had on us. That was the drama they could get, so why let it die? Everyone’s playing a dirty game. Even you and I are no exception.”

“In that case, didn’t you have the best-case scenario? It was an innocent dispute. If you kept the fire burning, they wouldn’t dig any deeper.”

“To get to what?”

“Fucking, I’d assume, since none of you have kicked the bucket.”

Harry smiled with only half his mouth. He did that when Penny was being forward with her questioning, but that tended to make for better answers.

“You mean Q and Bex.”

“If that’s what you mean.”

“They had something to hide, yes, but no one was sniffing them out. Honestly, I don’t think they would’ve cared so much if something did come out about their relationship. Q once told me she thought it would be a relief if the news just dropped out of nowhere. No planning, no buildup. They just wanted to move forward. But they were convinced by higher powers that something was at stake, so they went along with it. That’s all I can say, though. Their relationship isn’t mine to comment on.”

“Of course,” Penny nodded. “So tell me about where you and Louis stood after the incident with Liam. He was angry with you, but you thought you had just made up.”

The waiter came back to take their plates. Harry claimed he wasn’t done with his dessert yet, though he’d hardly touched it in the last half hour. The waiter offered them another round of drinks and Penny was the first to politely decline. Harry asked for another two waters instead, but to hold off on the bill in case they wanted coffee. Penny felt they weren’t far enough into the years of Harry’s life to already be nearing the end of their interview. She wondered if he would offer to meet again, but held out on asking.

“That’s right, I didn’t know he was angry. But not out of ignorance. Liam told me that Louis forgave the situation and the air was cleared. I think he genuinely thought that to be the case, but Louis knows how to hold a grudge like no other. I learned that then.”

“When was the next time you and Louis spoke?”

“June eleventh, 1993,” he said, and the promptness of his answer told Penny there was some significance to that date. “Both of us were on our international tours, and we were ending our European leg just as Fearless Doe’s was starting. Funny enough, our free days in Paris landed on the same day.”

### 1993

The point of having the day off of tour, in Harry’s eyes, was to be able to explore the city with his friends, try some new food, and take in the sights. Unfortunately for Harry, Paris was the city of love, and he was the lone single member of Smudge. Q and Bex had long ago planned to spend the whole day together, trying to do all the famous Paris attractions at once, and Niall had brought along his new girlfriend, which meant Harry was given two third-wheel options or a unicycle.

If he wanted to enjoy Paris, he was going to have to see it alone.

Most of the time, Harry was not worried about recognition. When he was alone with a pair of sunglasses, especially in a city this big and filled with tourists, the chances of anyone stopping him became even slimmer. He may have been recognizable, but not as much as the Eiffel Tower was. After giving himself one last glance over in the mirror, he slid the glasses onto his face even though he was still indoors.

Marching out of his hotel room, camera in the bag he looped over his shoulder, Harry headed for the elevator to the lobby. He was going down from the fourth floor, but it stopped at the third. Harry stepped to the side as the doors slid open, making room for whoever else was joining him. 

He did not expect that person to be Louis Tomlinson.

Louis marched into the elevator with a huff, pressing the ground floor button even though it was already lit up. Harry could tell right away that he didn’t even notice who he was sharing the elevator with, which meant the sunglasses must’ve worked, he decided.

“I see they even booked us in the same hotel,” Harry said when they started moving again.

Louis looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, shit,” he said with muddled surprise. “No one told me you guys were here.”

“We had a show last night,” Harry explained.

“We have one tomorrow night.”

“I know.”

Louis didn’t reply, and Harry couldn’t help but notice an uncertain coldness in his tone. Before he stepped foot on the elevator, his shoulders were slumped and his eyes sharp with anger, but Harry didn’t feel it was his place to ask for details.

“Busy day, then?”

“Nope,” Louis said, not bothering to turn to look at him. Harry could see his distorted face in the reflection of the metal door.

“Day off?”

“Press day.”

The door opened and Louis was out quick, but Harry kept following him. “Sounds busy to me,” Harry continued.

“I’m skipping it.”

He was walking fast toward the front door. Harry had to shuffle to keep up. “You can do that?”

“Not technically,” Louis sighed as he reached the outside, fresh air filling his lungs when he breathed back in. “But what are they going to do? Fire me?”

The hotel they were staying in was near the arena, so it opened up on a relatively quiet street compared to the rest of the city. Louis looked around as if he wasn’t actually sure where he was, which made sense considering he was probably dropped off at a different entrance and hadn’t yet left. He decided to go right, which Harry knew was toward the Seine river because he had taken a jog down there early this morning.

“What made you decide to skip a press day?” Harry asked, arriving at his side. Louis was walking briskly down the sidewalk, trying to get as far away from the hotel as possible.

“Our manager is an asshole and I don’t want to speak to him.”

“You call everyone an asshole.”

“Most people are assholes.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“You’re too naive to think it’s true.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry froze, letting Louis get ahead. Louis turned around, stepped forward, then turned around again. When the thoughtful pacing stopped, he looked up at Harry, both hands on his waist. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Why were you coming out here?”

“I was gonna go to that esplanade to see the Eiffel Tower.”

Louis laughed. “You’re gonna get noticed by tourists and they’ll never leave you alone.”

“No, I won’t,” Harry claimed, wiggling the back arms of his sunglasses so they lifted off his nose.

“How Clark Kent of you.”

“It’s worked before.”

A pause skipped by, long enough for Louis to take a look at his surroundings and realize he had no real idea of what to do.

“So,” Louis crossed his arms, “you’re going to spend your day doing tourist things, is that it?”

“That’s the plan,” Harry grinned. Maybe he’d run into Q and Bex and he could make them feel bad for leaving him to his own devices.

Louis scratched the back of his head absentmindedly. “Would you mind if I came along?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to spend the day hanging out with _me_?”

“I want to spend the day away from this hotel and everyone who works on this tour, so if that means running around Paris with someone I only know through mutual dislike so that I’m not forced to sit through another goddamn interview, or have to look at the dude who gets to control my life because of a contract I signed under different circumstances, then yes, I want to spend the day hanging out with you.”

“Gee, are you sure you don’t want to miss out on all that?” Harry said with an air of sarcasm.

“Can I crash your plans, or what?”

Harry looked at what Louis was wearing, trying to judge his level of anonymity. It was definitely a day-off look. Long shorts and a plain t-shirt, his hair mostly tucked into a cap. He had sunglasses folded into the collar of his shirt. Definitely not making any impressions on the Parisians, but he would fit in with the other tourists nicely. 

“Alright,” Harry agreed. “But we’re following my itinerary and I don’t take suggestions.”

As it turned out, Harry’s itinerary should’ve been made with a map in mind, not just a tourist brochure. Luckily, the cab driver they called was an older man who spoke both French and English, so he was able to give them a better idea of where to go. He suggested they first take a walk around the Tuileries Garden next to the Louvre before it got too hot in the afternoon.

“You tip well, I will drive you around Paris all day.”

Harry and Louis realized pretty quickly that this guy knew exactly who they were, but if he was offering to be their personal driver for the day, that worked out nicely in their favour.

“What’s your name?” Louis asked from the backseat where he and Harry were both sitting. They had met the cab at the next hotel down the road, not wanting to risk being seen by anyone Louis worked with.

“Pascal,” the driver said, only his eyes visible in the rearview mirror. “Very pleased to meet you.”

“Alright, Pascal,” Harry began, “I will tip generously every time we leave this cab if we can take you by your word that you’ll be waiting for us when we get back.” He was planning on tipping generously anyway, but they could use a tour guide.

“I swear it,” Pascal said.

Harry sat back with a smile. “I’m glad we met you too, Pascal.”

Pascal gave them a driving tour of the city on the way to the Louvre. He made sure they drove past Notre Dame and Bastille, telling them the few facts he knew about every landmark out the windows. Harry pulled his camera from its bag, letting the extra rolls of film that were resting against it roll around on the bottom. Louis didn’t bring along anything of the sort, but he could take it all in with just his eyes, he supposed. With the window rolled down, Harry made sure to snap a few photos. The sun was hidden behind a cloud in the otherwise blue sky, giving him the perfect lighting. This was one of Harry’s favourite parts of tour: actually getting the chance to see the world. He didn’t often get more of a view than what he saw through a hotel window, so he couldn’t wait to get out of this car and explore.

When Pascal dropped them off just a block away from the gardens, he asked them how long until they would need him again. Harry told him to go get a few more rides for an hour before meeting them back here, then gave him the first part of the tip, as promised.

The entrance to the garden was a wide walkway between rows and rows of perfectly manicured trees, just at the beginning of their spring bloom. As they strolled down the path quietly, Harry kept lining up shots without clicking the button. He just wanted to see how they would look—each angle and the way the light would hit the leaves. Louis stayed a few steps away from his side, enough so that he was in the cool shade of the trees where he felt more comfortable. Since Harry wanted to see the Louvre, even if it was from the outside because one day in Paris wasn’t long enough to browse the art, they headed in that direction first.

As they stood across the street from it, next to the fountain where they could witness the museum in all its grandiosity, Harry snapped a few more photos. Louis, on the other hand, seemed rather confused with all the hype.

“Why don’t we go inside?” he said.

“Because about a thousand other tourists want to go inside. It’ll take way too long.”

“So you just want to stare at the outside of an old building?”

“We’re in Europe, Louis. That’s what everyone does.”

Satisfied that they had now seen something historic and famous, they turned around to stroll down to the octagonal pond on the other side. When they were picking which direction to take when they first arrived, Harry noticed a cafe down there and he hadn’t had lunch yet.

“Where are all the flowers?” Louis wondered. “I thought this was supposed to be a giant garden.”

“Not that kind of garden,” Harry said, though he’d admit that he was slightly disappointed not to see many flowers, himself. There were a few bushes here and there, but nothing overwhelming.

“Still a lovely walk, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” Harry agreed, but he was a little surprised at Louis’ attitude. Perhaps he judged him too quickly, but Louis didn’t seem like the type to be impressed by a garden or a few old buildings. Drinking at the pub or going to see a show seemed more his speed. He’d thrive in Amsterdam, but in a different kind of culture. Then again, Harry knew Louis just about as well as the woman passing them pushing a stroller.

“When I was a kid, my mom grew this big, beautiful garden in our backyard,” Louis told him. Harry noticed there was a faint smile on his face. “In the spring and summer, I would help her in it every weekend, weeding and watering. She grew such colourful flowers. Lavender bushes and hanging baskets of orchids. Around the fence, she planted these tall sunflowers that didn’t bloom for long, but when they did, the yard finally looked complete.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Harry said, and he meant it sincerely. Growing up, he didn’t have very much obvious beauty in his life. He always had to seek it out for himself.

“She still grows it,” Louis continued. “Same backyard and everything. Life is so busy now, but I try to go there two or three times a year, if I can, to help out with it. I love spending time with her, listening to the radio and drinking iced tea. It’s always been just me and her.”

“She must love that house if she still wants to stay in it, even with you as her son.”

Louis puffed out his cheeks, dramatically blowing out a stream of air. “I’ve tried, believe me. I told her she could retire anywhere in the world, but she loves it there. That being said, I have upgraded everything in the house. She had a stove with only one working burner for like ten years. Never seemed to bother her.”

“You had quite the happy life, then, growing up.” Harry wasn’t sure if he was asking or observing.

“Looking back on it, sure. But at the time… I mean, have you ever asked a fifteen-year-old if they’re happy?”

“Fifteen isn’t a happy age,” Harry agreed. He didn’t like to think about himself at fifteen. Or as a teenager at all, for that matter. He kept that part of his memory under wraps until he truly needed it. Being stuck for just the right emotion was when he finally harvested from that garden of feelings.

“Fifteen is the age you realize you're a person and life is going to take more out of you than you can take from it,” Louis mused.

Harry considered his words. “It’s easier to accept when you realize everyone on the planet has been given that same burden.” 

“And when you’ve had a lot of that burden taken off your shoulders so easily.”

At first, Harry thought Louis meant something like being born with a silver spoon or finding a person to share your life with and settling down young, but there was a bitterness to his tone that Harry didn’t care to ask about. Instead, he asked, “You always knew this would be your life, didn’t you?”

Louis allowed himself a moment to think. “When I was a kid, I didn’t give myself a chance to explore another option. I knew I would be working in music, whether it be the tech guy on tour or a session musician or just playing bars forever. This wasn’t a dream, it was just my plan. But the bigger stuff like touring the world and having a number one album—I mean, you can’t plan that.”

“So when all the stress hit—all the chaos of fame—were you ready for that?”

Louis took a breath, not expecting to be hit with such difficult questions, but he wasn’t unprepared. “I think I knew that what I was getting into was something I wasn’t going to understand until it was already happening, and I was okay with that. I wanted it bad enough to be okay with that.”

“I get that,” Harry said. The sun started hiding behind another cloud as they got closer to the gentle sounds of birds splashing in the fountain water. “I had no idea what I was getting into when I signed that first album contract, but I knew I wanted it, and that mattered more to me.”

“And have you ever wished for something different? Something more normal?”

“I haven’t gotten myself into enough trouble to wish it all away just yet.”

Louis smiled in amusement. “But when you do, that’s when you’re going to create your magnum opus.”

That could be true, Harry thought. He was only twenty-two and had a long way to go for mistakes. He decided to consider it over a crepe dusted with powdered sugar and stuffed with strawberries and whipped cream. Louis agreed, quite excitedly, that it sounded like the perfect lunch.

They ate outside the cafe at a small table, the wired backs of the chairs shaped like a heart blossoming from two leaves. Harry attempted to order in French but gave up about half a sentence in. His knowledge of the language consisted of what he learned from a translation book over the last two days. Louis made a poor attempt to hide his amusement as the server walked away with their order.

Sipping unsweetened lattes as they waited for their food, they watched passersby and listened to a quiet that wasn’t so lonely. Shared silence was only lonely when you’d rather be alone. 

Around the hour, they walked back to the street corner where Pascal dropped them off, and where he was waiting for them once more. On the way to the viewpoint for the Eiffel Tower, they drove down the Champ de Elysees, the shopping district most populated with tourists. Harry kept his camera pointed out the window, his lens focusing on a couple holding hands and swaying them back and forth. The dad with his daughter on his shoulders who was bouncing happily as he walked. The families with far too many kids who surely wouldn’t be relaxing until they got home. But he never clicked the button to capture a photo. Those weren’t his memories to save, but how wonderful would it be to one day have some of his own like that.

The Arc de Triomphe was bigger than Harry expected. He knew none of the history and supposed maybe he should’ve made more of an effort to learn about all these iconic landmarks they were visiting, but for now, it was enough to witness their greatness. And, in this case, the chaos of the traffic circle surrounding it. Twelve lanes of chaos, actually, and Pascal had no worries about driving right into it with a surprising amount of control. Even still, Harry grabbed onto the door handle, and Louis looked at him across the backseat with a grimace.

“You are in good hands with me, I promise you,” Pascal told them, though he only had one hand on the steering wheel.

“We trust you,” Louis said, but Harry wasn’t so sure he was telling the truth.

“A question, if I may.” Pascal started signalling out of the circle, allowing everyone’s pulse to go back to normal.

“Sure,” Harry said, his gaze drifting back out the window to the parked cars lining the streets.

“The newspapers, they say you two are enemies. Despise each other.”

Harry turned his head to meet Louis’ eyes, but they were fixated out his own window. “What’s the question?” Louis said.

“What does this mean? Spending all day together like this, on holiday. You two must be the best of friends, no?”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” This time, Harry could hear the hint of a smile in Louis’ tone.

“Then why is it that— _Qu'est ce que tu fous?!_ ”

Someone had cut Pascal off so abruptly from a parking stall that he had to slam on his breaks. Harry grabbed onto the door handle again, but Louis stretched his neck to see what was going on. The car in front of them continued on its way without any acknowledgement.

“We are friends,” Louis said as if there was any truth to his statement at all. Just because Harry didn’t mind Louis’ presence didn’t mean they were friends in any way. The record was already set straight a year ago. “Just a couple of pals out on a boys’ vacation.”

Harry tried not to react, he really did, but the scoff that came from his throat was involuntary. Pascal must not have noticed.

“Wonderful news,” he said. “But you must let the people who write about you know. The things they say—terrible.”

“The papers can write what they want to write about me. Gives me something to wipe my ass with in the morning.”

Harry let out a single “Ha!” of laughter, which surprised Louis so much he turned to him, giving in to the laughter as well.

You could see the Eiffel Tower from nearly any spot in Paris, but the view from the esplanade was a framed portrait. Looking out at it didn’t feel like witnessing a landmark—the one that Harry’s eyes had been following all day. It was having the privilege of seeing a view worthy of a work of art. Not just the tower itself, but everything around it. A clear blue sky as its backdrop. A vast city, layered with buildings and people filled with history and beauty so grand that he could never learn it all. A blend of soft colours in every small nook. A perfect mise-en-scene.

When they got out of the car, Louis walked straight to the end of the square on his own. Harry took more time getting there. A careful stroll as he got closer, taking in the fact that this was real, not an image on a movie screen. In his life, Harry had already seen quite a bit of the world’s beauty. Quite a few views that were unbelievable to take in. But they never stopped feeling special. Not one.

He met Louis at the end of the square where he was leaning against the railing, looking out at the city so intently. The wind was blowing Louis’ hair into his eyes, but his sunglasses were protecting them. In comparison to the tower, the city looked so tiny below it. But Louis wasn’t looking at the tower as much as he was the ant-like cars passing by, the shape of every door and window, and the people on the ground below it, basking in the glow of the afternoon sunlight. Harry wondered if that’s why it was called “the city of love.” It came with a rosy tint all on its own. 

“Would you take a picture of me in front of the tower?” Harry asked, holding out his camera with the strap dangling from it.

Louis took it from him gently. “Sure.”

“You just have to make sure the cap is off and twist—”

“I know how to use a camera,” Louis said. Harry could sense a hint of teasing in his words, even though he didn’t make his friendly intentions too obvious.

As Louis took a few steps back to line up the shot, Harry posed with a smile, his hands crossed together in front of his hips. Louis held the camera vertically, making sure as best as he could that every side of the image would be even. Harry listened for the click, then Louis told him to stay put so he could click it again.

“It’s a picture you’re going to want to keep, for sure,” Louis said as he walked back to the railing Harry was still standing in front of. “That should make sure you aren’t blinking in one of them.”

“Thanks,” Harry said with an honest nod. “Do you want your picture, as well? I can send it to you when I get them developed.”

“It’s alright,” Louis said. “There are enough pictures of me. I’m fine with the memory.”

Harry could respect that answer, so he turned around and began to wander again. He snapped a few more photos without anyone in them. Just the view in all its glory, until he felt he got his fill. From across the esplanade, Harry noticed Louis had found a much quieter spot on the railing to lean against. One without crowds of tourists around them, or at least not so many. 

In this quiet moment, it seemed the city had captured Louis’ entire attention. So much so that he didn’t even catch Harry walking up next to him, keeping about ten feet away. Louis had his arms lazily over the railing, one foot a step back from the other as he hunched over, his shoulders up near his ears. Even with the sunglasses, Harry could tell Louis’ eyes were squinted by the wrinkles that peeked out from the sides. There was something soothing about watching someone else so absorbed in their mind, completely unaware of what was going on nearest them. Harry wondered if something about the view had him fantasizing, or maybe whatever happened this morning was still weighing heavy on him. But he looked content—happy, even—to be exactly where he was.

Harry lifted his camera, angling it for the perfect profile, and just as a gentle breeze blew the hair from Louis’ forehead, he clicked the button.

Louis noticed his presence, then, but not until Harry put the camera down. “Ready to go?” Louis asked him.

“If you are,” Harry said. “I want to go up to Montmartre next.”

“What’s that?” Louis asked as they turned around, letting the tower watch them walk away.

“Somewhere quiet and peaceful,” Harry said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

The famous Paris hill was one of the few locations Harry actually knew a little bit about. Many artists of the nineteenth and early twentieth century had escaped to Montmartre to complete their works: Monet, Van Gogh, Valadon, Renoir. Perhaps it was because of the quaintness of the village, like a small town next to the big city. Even with tourists, the streets felt quiet. Lush greenery was around every corner. And as you strolled along the cobblestone paths, every so often you’d get a peek between two buildings of the city view from atop the hill. When lovers dream of Paris, this was where they’d be seeing the sunset from, arms around one another as they watched a painting come to life.

Art was bountiful as Harry and Louis walked the main street. Harry wondered if the market they had found themselves in the middle of was a daily occurrence, or if they just got lucky. Stands were lined with drawings and prints, hand-sewn bags and delicate jewelry. Souvenirs were aplenty, just like every other spot around this city, but they were hidden by the more genuine. Those who would sit with a paintbrush or a pencil, right in the middle of the street, and create whatever they pleased.

“I’m surprised at how much you seem to be enjoying this,” Harry said as they found themselves in a park square just behind the market, shaded by trees and with a small fountain glistening in the warm late afternoon sunlight.

“I don’t get to experience days like these very often,” Louis said, kicking one foot out in front of the other. “I quite like the change of pace.”

A boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen, was standing in front of the fountain with a guitar strapped to him. His long hair was held tight to his head with a bandana as he sang “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” partially in English and partially in French. 

“This would be a great place to retire,” Harry said as they stilled next to a tree. The benches were taken up by parents watching their children dance to the music like tiny ballerinas. “Imagine waking up every morning and having your coffee on a balcony like that,” he pointed to the old building across the street, “and watching the sunrise over that,” he then pointed in the direction of the city, the view of which would surely be grander from higher up.

“You could, one day,” Louis said. “Nothing’s stopping you. You’re gonna be loaded till the day you die.”

He turned to Louis, eyes squinted in confusion. Louis didn’t notice as he walked away with a folded up banknote in his hand, but Harry couldn’t see for how much. He smiled at the boy with the guitar and placed it in the case in front of him with the other tips. When he saw Louis’ face, the boy’s eyes went wide.

“You must play,” the boy said, likely without thinking about what he was asking of Louis, but Louis kept the smile on his face.

“I couldn’t,” he said. “You're already outshining me.” Then he walked back to Harry graciously, leaning again against the other side of the tree.

“You have an odd relationship with money,” Harry said.

Louis gave him a strange look. “Because I tipped him?”

“No, what you said about me being loaded until I die. You say it with contempt, but you make even more money than I do.”

“I don’t care about money. It’s weird to talk about it. Especially for people like us.”

Harry didn’t want to talk about money either, so he dropped it as they turned the corner up the next hill and away from the market. He did see a small painting he wanted to buy, but he could circle back and pick it up later. It was of the back of an old woman’s head, a scarf covering her hair and a sunflower hanging over her shoulder, which she held by the stem. He found the warm blend of watercolour comforting.

But Harry’s mind was still swirling around what Louis said. It looked as though now they were in a residential area, further from the bustling market and onto an almost barren road.

“Why is it that you don’t like me?” Harry asked, keeping a step behind Louis, who was looking at his feet more than what was around him.

“Does it matter? You don’t like me, either. You don’t usually get into legal battles with people you like.”

“I never said I don’t like you. You said that.”

“You did, actually. I think you have a selective memory.”

“How could I not like you when I barely know you?”

Louis stopped to turn around. “Do you, then? Because I never got an inkling of that when you were collaborating with my bandmates behind my back and never even bothered with an apology after the fact.”

Harry was slightly taken aback by the outburst. “Are you seriously—”

“Do you really want to know why I don’t like you?” Louis said, sounding more than ready for the argument that was about to ensue. “Because you’re a spoiled and naive child who has never had to learn how to make his way in life. Everything came easy to you in your career. You play a month’s worth of gigs and you get discovered by a label. You release your first single and it goes to number seven in the charts in less than a year. First album: critically acclaimed. Tours, awards, just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “And then you just float around like you expected it. I’m not saying that you aren’t worthy of it, I’m saying—”

“I didn’t have to work as hard as you did to achieve just as much.”

Harry was glad they were away from any listening ears when they were having this discussion because he wasn’t sure what kind of hateful words were about to spew from it. Louis let out a deep, frustrated sigh as he stared at him. Exhaling all his anger just so Harry could breathe it in.

“This is a conversation neither of us wants to have,” Louis said.

“You can’t tell me all of that and then turn around and try to get out of it. You think I didn’t earn my success.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It is, actually. Not word for word, but you think that I’m some kid who met a genie and got his whole life set out for him on his first wish. Never struggled a day in his life. What makes you so much more worthy than me? You played bars for two more years? As soon as you got signed, you were headed straight up, just like I was.”

“We got dropped by two labels before we found any success.”

“Then got signed by the biggest label in rock music.”

“Who also signed you two years after you were scouted in a seedy bar by a label that was just as big. You got lucky, dude.”

This was ridiculous and Harry knew it, but he couldn’t stand the pointless accusations. Here they were, both of them on top of the world, arguing about who struggled more for it. But he wasn’t just going to stand here and take insults from Louis, who knew nothing of his life.

Harry took a few steps backward, his head dropping so his nose pointed to the sky. He spun around once to calm himself, but it didn’t quite work. A sharp breath through his nose made him raise a finger. “Do you want to know where I was living when Smudge was out there playing seedy bars?” 

He paused, but Louis didn’t react with any more than a glance. 

“My car. And before that, it was in the attic at Niall’s parents’ house.” Harry realized he was getting into a story he didn’t often tell, but his anger wouldn’t let him stop. “Because when I was seventeen I realized that I was living with a secret that felt like too much to hide. I sat down with my parents at the dinner table and told them something that scared the hell out of me and they told me I was wrong. That I either sort myself out, or I find somewhere else to live. Niall had an uncle with the same secret, but his wasn’t much of a secret anymore, so I already knew his parents would get it. They were loving and welcoming and told me it was okay to be scared because there were people out there saying scary things, but I wasn’t the one who was wrong. They were. I finished my senior year and I moved out because I felt too guilty taking advantage of their hospitality. I claimed I found a room to rent, but that room had four wheels and a built-in radio. So when Smudge started playing gigs and we got scouted one month into playing together, of course we were going to say yes. And we kept saying yes to everything we wanted because if this fell apart, I had nothing to go back to. 

“And you know what? We would’ve said yes regardless because, you’re right, we were lucky. Incredibly lucky. So Niall, Q, Bex, and I all agreed on whatever it takes. And now we hide even more, and we work harder than I ever imagined this job would be, and I love it. It gave me a life and a family when all I had was a car. Yes, in comparison, we have it pretty easy now. No, it didn’t take long for us to find success. But what is it that you think I should be apologizing for, here? Making _you_ feel inadequate?”

Louis was grinding his teeth together as he thought of a response. There was sympathy in his eyes, but that was the last thing Harry wanted. He wasn’t telling his sob story because he wanted Louis to understand he was deserving of what came to him. Plenty of kids had to deal with the same traumatic rejection of who they were and never got the beautiful life they deserved. Harry was so beyond lucky for what he had. Yet here Louis was with just as much luck given to him, trying to make Harry feel guilty for it.

“I’m not jealous of you,” Louis told him, his voice quiet as he looked anywhere but into Harry’s eyes. “But you are so much better at this than I am, and it drives me crazy. I had to fight tooth and nail to get what I want, and all you had to do was say yes.”

“I’ve had to say yes when I wanted to say no.”

“And we both ended up here. Same result, different story,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Am I supposed to pity you?” Harry asked, letting out a breath of humourless laughter through his nose.

“It sounds like you’re the one who’s looking for pity.”

Harry just shook his head, his lip curled in disgust. He had nothing left to say to Louis. Not about his sick jealousy he was too afraid to admit, or his pathetic game of “who had it worse” on the path to achieving their dreams. It was ungrateful, and he didn’t want any part in it. 

“I’m sorry, but I need to go,” Harry said, already backing away. “I’m sure you can find your own way back to the hotel.”

“I’m sure I can,” Louis said, but his own back was already turned to leave.

Everything about that conversation made Harry feel gross and sad. He needed a walk and he needed to forget. Maybe an evening alone would give him the peace of mind he really needed. He had the luxury of brooding on his day off from a world tour in _Paris_.

So, Harry walked back to the market and he got the painting he wanted, complimenting the artist in the little broken French that he knew. In one of the shops which kept its doors open to the outdoors, he bought a leather-bound journal and a novelty pen that said Paris in sparkly purple letters because it was all they had. Then he sat alone on that bench near the fountain and he listened to that same guitarist with the soft voice and steady rhythm. 

Harry wrote whatever came to mind, sketched shapes in the corners, and thought about ripping every page out and tossing it in the garbage bin. Again, he thought about what it would be like to live here one day and to come to this bench to write whenever he wanted. To find a new bench every day that gave him a new view to be inspired by. If he were to escape alone, Harry thought, he’d want it to be somewhere like this, or maybe even smaller. Where being alone was ordinary. Where finding yourself was expected.

When Harry left, just before the sun began to set, the boy with the guitar was packing up as well. Harry was glad he had already tipped him when he first returned to the square, but he felt the need to say more. With his journal tucked under his arm, he decided to approach the boy.

“You’re very talented,” Harry said, and the boy looked up at him in surprise. His smile glowed.

“That means very much to me, thank you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lucian,” the boy said. “But I go by Luc.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He put his hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know. I’m a big fan of Smudge.”

Harry smiled in appreciation. “Are you hoping to do music professionally one day?” he wondered.

“No, no. I do this for fun. Like a part-time job, you know?”

“What do you want to be, then?”

“A doctor, I hope. _Un pédiatre_. Medical school will be so expensive for my family, but I’ve been working very hard. I will make people happy with my music and healthy with my brain.”

Harry nodded. “That’s very noble.”

“I must say, I am surprised to see you in this part of Paris. What are you doing here?” Luc snapped the latches shut on his guitar case and lifted it to his side.

“Well, right now I’m going to find a place for dinner, then I’m going back to my hotel. Early flight home tomorrow.”

Luc’s face lit up. “You must come to my family’s cafe! We have delicious food, truly. I will take you if you would like.”

“You know what? That sounds great,” Harry said, not taking long at all to decide. It wasn’t like he knew where to pick, anyway.

He followed the boy back up the hill he never made it to the top of after his argument with Louis. It seemed, now, like they were walking to the very top of Montmartre, though the top was where all the activity was. Luc said that this little cafe was in a quiet spot and that more locals visited than tourists. When they arrived, he told Harry he could sit wherever he liked, but that the tables outside had the best view. Harry agreed because if he turned his head to the left he could watch the sunset.

Luc ran inside to drop off his guitar and get his parents, who welcomed Harry with handshakes and bright smiles. Likely, the boy had to explain to his parents who Harry was. When your fame comes from roots in rebellion, as rock always had, parents tend to be the untappable market for each new generation. They told him he could eat free, but Harry insisted on paying. People who are rich shouldn’t get anything for free.

Excitedly, Luc acted as his server, staying for a chat between each dish. He brought out rounds of white wine, steaming onion soup, and duck breast cooked to perfection. Harry loved all of it, and he felt so welcomed by Luc and his family. When it came time to leave, Harry wished them well and thanked them profusely. And when he had to pay the bill, he left them with five thousand euros to contribute to Luc’s school fund. That kid was smart and kind, and he was going to make a wonderful pediatrician. Harry barely acknowledged what he was doing, but he didn’t let them say no to the money.

When they had first arrived at Montmartre, Harry let Pascal go with his last hefty tip, which meant Harry was on his own for a ride home. It would’ve been easy to call a taxi from a payphone, but instead, he walked to the bottom of the hill to find the metro, choosing the short way down and taking in the last beautiful view from the Sacre-Coeur. By now, his lucky day of anonymity had passed. He had to stop for hellos and autographs, and for the few tourists who asked for photos that would probably end up in a family album one day. Harry didn’t mind saying yes, and afterwards, he was grateful not to be followed into the underground. Now that night had fallen, the darkness may have helped.

Pleased to end his day on a high, Harry walked confidently through the metro, paid for his ticket, and searched for which train would take him back to the hotel. Or close to it, at least. The option of a taxi was always there. The platform was relatively quiet, but even in the late hour, there were still those desperate to soak up the city, possibly headed for a night out in Pigalle. Harry waited near the very end of the platform where, oddly, no one else was standing. When the train pulled up, he was one of the few to get onto the last car.

It was empty enough that Harry was able to sit alone in one of the seat pairs. Not often did he take public transportation so freely. Actually, he hadn’t since he was about eighteen. It reminded him of being in high school again. All that was missing was his Walkman and a Pixies tape.

The train started to leave and Harry stared through the window as he felt the sway of movement. As it sped up, his focus was lost as the wall turned into a speeding blur. Instead, he found his own face in the reflection. And behind his reflection, sitting in the seat across the aisle, was Louis.

He whipped his head around, but it seemed that Louis had noticed him first. They met eyes, then Louis turned away. For some reason, it gave Harry a tangled knot in his stomach. Their conversation earlier today had left him in a state of unease, and the surprise only pulled that knot tighter. He looked down at his hands, trying to keep Louis out of his peripheral vision. Then he felt an arm brush up against his.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Louis said as he sat down next to him, and it felt nice to hear the words come out of his mouth for once. “It was unfair of me to say that to you.”

“Which part?” Harry said. “That I was a naive child? That I’ve never worked hard?”

“All of it,” Louis settled on. “I’m mad at myself and I threw all that anger at you. I’ve been throwing it at you for years, which isn’t justified. Like you said, we don’t even know each other.”

Harry let Louis’ apology sit for a moment, then asked, “Anger over what?”

Louis didn’t know how to answer that. It was like being asked to define a complex word that you use all the time. It’s only obvious in practice. “Anger that is incredibly shallow and self-centred, but I still feel it. Before all of this, I never imagined that getting what I thought I wanted would be so debilitatingly lonely. I never learned how to deal with this, and I can’t help but compare myself to you. When I see you so happy and navigating everything so easily, it makes me wonder where I went wrong.” 

“Happiness isn’t always an outward emotion. You can imagine how good I’ve gotten at faking it when I need to.”

Louis smiled in response, but it wasn’t real. “I never want to be ungrateful, but that’s where I found myself. I think I’m angry about that, too. I’ve gotten bitter too soon.”

“I think you got it backwards. You’re just bitter now. The happiness will come later.”

“I hope you’re right,” Louis nodded, though the words didn’t seem to be resonating. “But anyhow, I don’t want to unload my burdens onto you. I just wanted you to understand why I said what I said. I think I did mean it, and I’m sorry that’s how I’ve been seeing you.”

“You’re quite honest,” Harry told him, then he let a beat pass, staring intently at his clammy hands. “I’m sorry, too. For what happened with Liam. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know it would upset you. That was wrong.”

Louis looked up at him thoughtfully. “Thank you,” he said.

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry wasn’t sure how long this train ride would be, but he realized that unless Louis chose to move, they were stuck here together until it was time to get off.

“How did you end up spending your evening?” Harry wondered because Louis would’ve had just as much time to waste if it landed them on the same train.

“I walked for two hours,” Louis said. “I needed to think for a while, and then I really wanted another crepe.” Harry laughed, and Louis let his mouth curl into a smile. “What did you do?”

“Same thing, I suppose.” He looked at the journal in his lap. “I bought this, and that painting I really liked.” It was so small it fit tucked into the front cover.

“Oh, good,” Louis said. “I liked it, too. It was a lovely painting.”

They spent the rest of the ride chatting about their day. Nothing deep because neither of them was sure they could handle another argument. They were tired and they were over it, at least for today. And at the next stop, where they would’ve had to transfer, they called a taxi instead. It had been a long night.

But back in the hotel lobby, when they stopped at the elevator that would take them to their rooms, Harry made a suggestion that not even he was expecting.

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

Louis looked up at him, his mouth agape before he actually spoke. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You’re right,” Harry quickly retracted as the elevator doors opened. They were both headed up, but to different floors. “It’s late, anyway.” It was only nine, but he did have to be up early, and he was sure Louis would have the repercussions of his little skip day to deal with.

Harry stood with flushed cheeks, wondering why he was feeling such sudden embarrassment from asking a question that felt innocent when the words came from his mouth.

“I want you to know that I don’t actually dislike you,” Louis said once they were alone for a little while and the buttons were pressed. “If anything, I admire you.”

Harry didn’t know whether or not he was flattered, so all he said was, “I’ve never been sure what to think of you.”

The doors opened and Louis walked out, his expression hard to read. Still calm, Harry supposed. Then he turned around.

“I share your secret,” Louis said, “and I trust that because of that, you’ll be sure to keep it.”

Harry felt a weight in the pit of his stomach.

“Have a good night, Harry.”

The doors closed, and Louis left him with those words and a tender smile that would replay in Harry’s mind for the next two years.

### 2019

The rain had finally slowed to a gentle spitting, but the scent of it was still heavy in the air. Louis needed to let the dogs outside, so he stepped onto the back deck for a smoke as well. Penny chose to join him so they could keep the conversation going. 

They stood hunched over the dark wooden railing, watching the dogs chase each other on the sleek green grass below. Louis seemed quite aware that they were going to track mud into the house, but the way he was smiling at them suggested he let them do it anyway because he knew how much they liked it.

“You know,” Louis began, his limp wrist that held the cigarette hanging over the rail, “I have tried to quit smoking ten times over the last sixteen years and I always come back to it. Once, I made it almost five years. Terrible habit.”

“Why do you keep coming back to it?” Penny wondered. She wasn’t sure she was asking for the interview or just out of curiosity as someone who hadn’t touched a cigarette in ten years. The temptation was long gone for her, but they were still standing a generous distance apart.

“What bullshit excuses do people normally give? It’s relaxing? Reminds me of my twenties? I don’t know, really. I guess I’m just not committed enough to quit. I’m down to two a day, though. Maybe the next time I quit, it’ll be for good.”

He took another drag, then flicked ash into the tray next to his elbow.

“Montmartre is beautiful,” Penny said, getting slightly back on topic. “I don’t mean to share too much about my own life, but my wife and I had our honeymoon in Paris and the day we spent there was my favourite.”

Louis seemed pleased to hear her say that, his head tilting thoughtfully to the side. “How long have you been married?”

“Thirteen years. We went to San Francisco to do it since that was kinda the thing back then.”

“Do you have any kids?”

“Two boys. Twins. They’re so sweet and I just love them to death.”

“Your family sounds wonderful. You’ll have to show me a picture after this.”

“Yes, definitely,” Penny said, but her journalistic instincts reminded her that they were getting sidetracked. “So, were you expecting to become friends with Harry after that, or did you just feel you were finally at a place of mutual understanding?”

Louis settled back into it, his head turning away. “I didn’t have any expectations. It was a weird day, and I really didn’t think it was going to end with us, you know, _bonding_. But there was one part of it that totally slipped my mind until I was tossed a copy of some tabloid about a week later: Pascal.”

“The cab driver?”

“He sold the story that Harry and I were hanging out to the highest bidder. Somehow, he got a picture of us at that Eiffel Tower lookout, as well, so I imagine he made a pretty penny. I suppose he could’ve insinuated something or turned it into a story it wasn’t, but I was the one who told him we were close, so at least he didn’t lie.”

“Typically, you wouldn’t think that wouldn’t matter,” Penny observed. “Friends are friends. Nothing really comes out of a story like that.”

“Except when the world thinks you hate each other’s guts. Then your label sees that reaction and realizes they can capitalize off it by selling their two most profitable acts together. But first, you gotta get fans used to the idea. It wouldn’t work if Smudge fans hated Fearless Doe or vice versa, so they wanted us seen together. All of us.”

“Like a PR stunt?”

“It didn’t feel like one. We genuinely liked hanging out, but it was arranged by the label that we’d attend the same events and be photographed together. It was an orchestrated friendship.”

“Did it ever feel forced?”

“I could’ve been forced to do much worse for publicity.”

“So where did you stand with Harry, then? Friends? Colleagues?”

Louis smiled, mostly to himself. He squished the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray, then turned half around with his hands folded together, one elbow still lifted onto the rail and the other at his side.

“Right after Smudge’s European tour ended, they got right into the studio and started recording their next album. It was quite fast; faster than I’ve ever written an album. Six months later, they had a release party, and Fearless Doe was expected to attend...”

### 1994

Smudge’s album release parties were famous around town. Not for the band’s fame or their exclusivity, exactly. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Technically, Smudge had two release parties, like a wedding ceremony and a reception. The first was usually at an expensive restaurant with a bunch of label execs, media people, and family who wanted to celebrate their success. People willing to dress up and act decently for a couple of hours to impress the higher-ups. Afterwards, maybe around nine or ten, when it felt too late to still be at a nice dinner, the band, some friends, friends of friends, and a lot of fans who always got a hold of the address, headed out to the house Smudge had rented for the night and threw a real party. A college-style rager, with a couple of up-and-coming bands playing in the living room, kegs running like water, and a variety of substances available for consumption.

Niall was in charge of the latter half of the night. For a band whose members had drifted from the nightlife scene, them throwing the party of the year was a bit of a surprise to those who knew them. But that was the thing—they saved it. All of their energy bundled up to go all out in one beautifully chaotic night, setting up a new era of Smudge each time. 

But for this round of album promo, Fearless Doe needed to be seen. There were no cameras allowed at the reception, so first, they had to go to the ceremony.

“Why won’t you come to the afterparty?” Liam whined as the three of them sat in the back of the limo that was going to take them to the restaurant. Yes, a limo, which was a sure sign that this event really was all for show.

“When do I ever go to afterparties anymore?” Louis retorted. “One party is enough for me.”

“He’ll change his mind after we get there,” Zayn said, sitting in the seat across from the other two. Louis was surprised _Zayn_ was willing to go to the afterparty, considering he was usually in bed by ten. It made Louis feel like quite the grandpa, but being in bed by ten actually sounded wonderful.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Louis said, his words final. “You guys go have fun, though. Let me know who makes a fool of themselves.”

Liam shook his head in disappointment. “You used to want to go out all the time. You were the reason people wanted to go out.”

“When I was younger. I’m twenty-five now.”

Zayn laughed. “Practically a senior citizen!”

“That means nothing.” Liam pointed a finger at Louis. “My grandma can still party hard.”

With a roll of his eyes, Louis tried to suppress his amusement. “I’m glad you guys still like going out. I’m sure that party will be one for the books.”

“Which is exactly why you should be there!” Liam exclaimed again, this time shaking Louis’ shoulder. He always forgot how truly stubborn Louis could be. 

“Tell me that one more time and see what happens, Liam,” he said with a bright, sarcastic smile.

“Let him be,” Zayn said offhandedly. “We’re not the only ones who can try to persuade him.”

Louis turned to Zayn, his eyes narrowed. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You and Harry are the new ‘celeb besties’ everyone’s been talking about.” Zayn’s tone was animated, mocking the term. “Spending the last few months hanging out, sitting next to each other at award shows, bonding.”

“You know that’s all played up. They want us seen together.” Louis could sense the ulterior motives of bringing that up, but he wasn’t the only one who had to befriend Smudge. They were _all_ supposed to be seen together.

“You can’t play up phone calls nearly every night,” Liam pointed out.

A beat of silence followed. A confusing, unexpected silence. Louis’ chest felt hollow.

“Look,” Zayn cut in. “We know you, and we don’t want you to get into a situation where you’re going to get yourself hurt. Do you understand what we’re saying here?”

“Unless you know something we don’t,” Liam added. “In which case, that’s another conversation.”

Zayn looked at him sharply. “Dude. If there’s something we don’t know, that’s for a reason.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not up to us, but some things don’t fly,” Liam defended. “It sucks, I know, but that’s the way it is.”

He never should’ve told them about those stupid phone calls.

Louis had his eyes squinted shut, squeezing his fist tight in frustration. “Will you both just stop?! I can have friends, okay? I can have close friends, even! It’s none of your business, so just let it go.”

He knew it wasn’t their intention, but Louis didn’t like feeling attacked like this. He told them he was gay years ago so he didn’t have to hide things from them—because they were his _friends_ —not so they could tell him how to manage his life.

Besides, this had nothing to do with that. Harry was someone he felt he could really talk to. They had so much in common, the way their lives ended up in the same path. It made Harry the only person who really got it. Once they figured that out, their friendship felt inevitable. They weren’t joined at the hip or hanging out every single night, but they talked. In the few months since their friendship began, Louis felt like he’d never spoken to one person so much in his life. The way he felt every time he hung up the phone was a soothing calmness he wasn’t used to. Maybe that was why he found himself picking up the phone again and again.

“We just wanna look out for you, man. If you want us to butt out, we’ll butt out,” Zayn told him with high-pitched sincerity.

“Good,” Louis said. “That’s what I want.”

He let his head fall onto the headrest behind him

“Harry’s a really great guy,” Liam affirmed.

Louis turned his head to glare at him, and that was enough to get him to shut up altogether.

When it came to walking past rows of photographers with their bright flashes and unintelligible questions, Louis was bad at remembering to smile. He did when Zayn nudged him, lifting his head from staring at his shoes. But they stayed forward until the flashing stopped. Once they were inside, the flashes died down and Louis felt like he could breathe again. Part of him was glad he never _really_ got used to that.

There were too many people to greet between the door and their table. Everyone there knew who Fearless Doe was, which made it hard to remember who they had actually met. Even still, they shook hands and traded smiles, rejected drink offers and squeezed their way further and further into the restaurant. Smudge’s album was blasting through the speakers like a bar more than a dinner party.

“There you are!” Louis heard as a hand rested on his shoulders. He turned around to see Harry grinning, a gin and tonic in his hand. His presence offered a strange feeling of relief, not unlike their phone calls. Louis thought about hugging him in greeting, but he couldn’t get his arms to do it.

“Hey, congrats, man!” Louis said, settling for a cheerful pat on the back. “The album is amazing. You guys should be proud.” He had first heard it a few weeks ago when Harry played it for him in the studio, but he listened to his early copy again this morning.

Harry took a step closer and leaned his ear in so they could hear each other better, his hand still on Louis’ shoulder. “That means a lot, really. Listen, I want to talk more but I just have to make a few rounds. You’re at our table, right?”

“I don’t know,” Louis admitted. He hadn’t gotten far enough to find out. Although, Liam and Zayn might have because they were no longer in sight.

“You are,” Harry said in a way that made it sound like he had something to do with it. “I know you just got here, but don’t leave until we hang out.”

“I won’t,” Louis promised.

Harry squeezed his shoulder once more, then told him he’d meet him at the table when servers started circling with the first round. For Louis, that short interaction made the night slightly more bearable. 

Something that would make it even more bearable was a drink.

He ordered nothing more than a beer from the bar. Forgetting where he was, he asked for a bottle of Heineken. Instead, they had some fancy brand that was probably sponsoring the party on tap. As long as it was still beer, he’d take it.

The longer Louis spent in the spotlight, the more he realized he enjoyed being at home. Maybe it was because spending so much of his time on tour or working in other states made him appreciate the solitude of his house even more. The absence of a schedule. The return of normalcy. At first, he started to feel bad that he couldn’t enjoy himself more when it came to parties and appearances. A lot of the time, the parties could be fun and he got to see friends with whom he hadn’t caught up in a while. But he had just rented _Interview with the Vampire_ a couple of days ago and was still waiting for a night to watch it.

Thankfully, Fearless Doe weren’t the stars of this party, so he wasn’t being sought out as much as the members of Smudge were. Except one, apparently. As Louis searched for his bandmates, old friends, or anyone to talk to so he didn’t feel so awkward, he found Harry’s bandmate, Bex, sitting at a high table with Louis’ own manager, Tony Sheppard.

“Hey, Shep,” Louis said as he approached them, slightly confused as to how these two ended up in a conversation together.

Shep was a tall and slim man, his suits always just a little too baggy somewhere on him. And he wore suits often, showing no shame when he was the only one to dress up. Tonight was a semi-formal event, but Louis settled for a button-up and slacks while Shep was wearing his best tie.

“Just the man we wanted to see,” Shep grinned, his smile frighteningly white. “You’ve met Bex.” He gestured a hand across the table.

Not only had Louis met Bex, but he had a clear memory of when it first happened. They had spent an entire night hanging out at Harry’s house when Harry decided to throw his own dinner party. And by dinner party, that meant getting drunk or high with a bunch of friends while eating expensive steak. Niall and Q were there as well, and how well they all got along left Louis with a tinge of regret for all those years he spent thinking they couldn’t even speak to one another. 

“Of course we’ve met,” Bex said to Shep. “You have us all acting like we’ve been friends for decades.”

Shep laughed uncomfortably. “I’m just following instructions,” he said, “but I’m glad to see you’ve all been getting along.”

Louis turned away from Shep, instead smiling brightly at Bex. “I don’t need to tell you again how much I loved the album, but I happily will if you want me to,” he said.

“In that case, have a seat,” Bex encouraged.

Shep may have been a bit of a prick, but at least he could tell when he wasn’t wanted. That didn’t always stop him from sticking around, but it did this time, at least.

“I’m going to go mingle,” he said, standing from his stool and re-buttoning his suit jacket. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Sure,” Bex said with a tight-lipped smile. Louis offered him nothing, then proceeded to take his chair as soon as it was empty.

Bex watched Shep leave with unease in her eyes. “Your manager is...”

“A dick?” Louis said, pulling a coaster forward to rest his beer on. It looked like Bex had a glass of scotch or something resembling it in front of her. Nearly-finished apple juice also wouldn’t be surprising.

“That’s one word, yeah. Do you not get along?”

“Not often, but he’s under contract. We’ve got another three years with him, and he’s not going to leave with the kind of paycheck he gets. He’s fine, but he’s just…”

“A dick,” Bex finished for him.

“Exactly.”

Bex turned around to dig in the pocket of the leather jacket hanging over her chair. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and her lighter. “Want one?”

“Please,” Louis said. He checked his jacket in at the front when he arrived, which was where his pack still was.

Bex blew out her first puff of smoke while Louis was still lighting his, then she stepped off her stool to snatch the ashtray off the table next to them. Theirs was too full.

“Are you coming to the afterparty?” Bex wondered, brushing her fingers down her fringe to fix it. She had a natural cowlick, but there was plenty of hairspray holding it in place.

“Probably not,” Louis admitted. “Not really my thing.”

“Yeah, I had to convince Q to come, too. I have to every year. She’s always hated parties, but Niall would kill us if we didn’t show up.”

“Do _you_ like going?” Louis wondered.

“I help plan them.”

Bex flicked the end of her cigarette in the ashtray. Glancing around, Louis noticed the servers were walking around with shrimp cocktails, which likely meant the first course would be out soon. He was glad they weren’t waiting too long before getting the meal started. Surely Louis wasn’t the only one excited to get out of here.

“So, there’s something I should probably talk to you about,” Bex began, clearing her throat. “Lori, our manager, called me about it this morning, but I guess Shep thought it would be best if I was the one to suggest it to you.”

She had Louis’ full attention now. “Suggest what?” he asked.

“Apparently Shep and Lori had a meeting with our publicists a few days ago. They came up with an… unfavourable idea, I suppose you could say.”

“Oh, no.”

“They want us to, like, go out, I guess. On a date. To use Shep’s words: ‘to see what happens’.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up, then quickly back down again as he used the table to push his back into his chair. “Not to be blunt but—”

“It’s a horrible idea,” Bex said.

“Of course it is,” Louis agreed in earnest. “I don’t mean to state the obvious, but you and Q are, well…”

“And you’re, you know…”

As they had gotten closer over the last few months, Bex and Louis had a little heart-to-heart about their identities and how they felt about it in the context of, well, all of this. Coming out to another queer person was always easier than anyone who would never know what it was like to come out. Normally, the two of them didn’t speak in such subtle terms, but there were quite literally all of the worst people who could possibly hear their conversation sitting around them.

“What did you tell Shep just now?” Louis asked.

“I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead I told him that I didn’t think it was a good idea for two bands who strive for authenticity to use something fake just to sell a story.”

“And what did he say?”

Bex took a deep breath, her body hunched over her drink. Louis could feel her tone shifting before she even spoke. “He said that we’ve already been doing it by forcing a friendship, so this wouldn’t be much different. All we’d have to do is show up and not say a word. The story would form on its own.”

“How is that the same?” Louis stressed. “All of us becoming friends is not the equivalent to going out to dinner and getting photographed together so the world thinks we’re a couple. They want to use our friendship to sell records, fine, but at least that’s real.”

“Say that other part again,” Bex told him. “It’s going out to dinner to get photographed together. Look at us right now. We’re sitting at a table in a restaurant, leaning close and talking quietly. We’re halfway there.”

“Except we’re both gay and know who you’ll be going home with,” he whispered.

“It’s not real, Louis.”

“How can you be seriously considering this?”

“Do you think I _want_ to do this? But look at the big picture. You haven’t been linked to anyone in five years, and you and I both know that was a setup just as much as this is. I haven’t been linked to anyone _ever_ , but I’m not the hot lead singer tabloids care most about. The media sniffs around, and they’re getting suspicious. About me, maybe. About you, definitely. You remember the VMAs in ninety-one. You were chastised for saying the president doesn’t care if gay people live or die.”

“It was true, and I stand by it.”

She lowered her voice. “And how many times have you been called a queer, and worse, because of it? Sure, it was badass and I’m glad you did it, but you’ve had to be careful ever since, haven’t you?”

Louis didn’t say anything. His hand squeezed tighter around his glass, his thumb brushing away the condensation.

“I’m just saying, it’ll get them to lay off for a little while. You’ll have room to breathe.”

He sat back, quiet still. It wasn’t about the date or the story. He knew their people could sell it, regardless. An anonymous source doesn’t do as much as a photo, but it does something. But Bex was right; he would have room to breathe. More questions to dodge, sure, but he was getting good at that. That didn’t mean he couldn’t hate the situation. No one in the public eye was telling the truth about who they were, but a lot of them wouldn’t have as much to lose if they did.

“Sometimes, I wish I could just say it out loud to the wrong person and let the news run its course, but I don’t think I could handle what would come after.”

Bex reached across the table, resting her hand on top of Louis’. “I know,” she said. “I do too, but I think it’s going to be a while for us yet.”

Louis squeezed her hand back, then Bex pulled it away.

“Hey,” Louis said, forcing some pep into his voice to change the subject, “last time we spoke, didn't you say you were coming out to your family? How did that go?”

Bex straightened her back. “Honestly, pretty well,” she said, nodding her head along with it. “I think they kind of knew, considering Q and I have been living together since we were eighteen. They told me they loved me and it was business as usual.”

Louis smiled. “You’re glad you told them, then?”

“It was the most relief I have ever felt in my life.”

Louis remembered back when he told his mom the same thing. He took her out for dinner shortly after Fearless Doe got signed with Filter Records and they knew they were headed somewhere. It was meant to be a little celebration between them, but he told her as soon as the menus were taken away. It was something he knew he wanted to keep to himself when it came to his career, at the time, but he needed his mom to know. He needed to have that person to go to about absolutely anything when things got a little too tough. More than once, he had shed tears while pulling the weeds from her garden.

“If you talk to Q about it first, I’ll be willing to consider it,” he decided. “If you think it’s the right move.”

Bex didn’t look pleased, exactly, but she didn’t look disappointed, either. “We’re friends, dude. We’ll go out for dinner, talk about how ridiculous it is that we were willing to do it, get drunk, and then take two separate cabs home. All they have to see us do is walk in.”

“It sounds like Shep already gave you the rundown.”

“I think he knew I’d do a better job of convincing you than he could.”

“He’s a clever son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

When they realized everyone was finding their assigned seats, Louis and Bex put out the last of their cigarettes and headed to the table in the back corner. Each was set up for about ten people, the salads already being put out for the first course. Even though there was a bar, bottles of wine were on every table. A red with the cork removed to aerate, and a white over a bucket of ice. Q had already left a spot for Bex, and between her and the next free seat were Zayn and Niall. Louis took the seat next to Liam, leaving an open one between him and Niall. There was also a string of available seats next to Q if he were to bother sitting next to Shep and Smudge’s manager, Lori. The plates weren’t labelled, so Louis couldn’t help but wonder which seat Harry would choose.

Before Louis had even finished his beer, a glass of wine was being poured for him. Not so coincidentally, Liam’s hand was around the bottle.

“Get me drunk and I’ll be more inclined to go home to bed,” Louis told him. “Red makes me drowsy.”

Liam huffed, not quite jokingly, then set the bottle back down.

“How many speeches do you think we’re going to have to sit through?” said a voice behind him.

Louis looked over his shoulder just as Harry pulled out the free chair on his right. He set his gin and tonic down on the table in front of him. This one looked more full than the last.

“My money is on at least eight,” Niall said. “And Lori’s is going to eat up half the time.”

Lori must’ve heard him because she leaned over her husband to send Niall a glare, which only made him laugh.

“I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to each and every one,” Harry said, giving Louis a playful nudge. Louis assumed Liam was to blame for the seemingly widespread knowledge that he didn’t want to be here. Of course he wanted to support his friends, so he wouldn’t miss it, but complaining about social gatherings was in his nature.

“This better be the best goddamn meal I’ve ever eaten,” Louis joked. 

Nothing had begun yet, but there was a small stage at the front of the restaurant that looked like it was being prepared for speakers. The salad being served was something with spinach, nuts, and fruit on it. Not a favourite, but Louis could pick around the pieces he didn’t like. Which meant he’d be eating the cheese off the top.

As more people showed up to their table, Louis fell out of the conversation, but he could sense Harry leaning closer to him.

“Do you have a second? I want to show you something outside,” Harry said.

Louis put his fork down. “Now?”

“It’ll be quick, I promise.”

Harry started to get up first, leaving his salad mostly untouched as he pushed his chair out. Louis did the same, but not before Zayn stopped him to ask where they were going.

“We’ll be right back,” Louis told him, then he was already following Harry before he could be questioned further.

Harry was walking fast, so Louis had to quicken his pace to keep up as they maneuvered single-file around the tables. He realized they were headed for the kitchen, and once they got close, Harry turned to make sure he was still behind him.

“Back entrance,” Harry explained, placing a hand on Louis’ back to usher him forward. 

They hurried through the kitchen, trying to stay out of the way as best as possible as they dodged line cooks and quick-moving servers. By the time they reached the door, Harry shoved it open and pulled Louis along.

“What’s out here?” Louis asked, though it was clear they had reached a small parking lot.

“My car,” Harry said as they began to approach a small blue Mercedes. 

“What’s in your car?” 

Harry grinned as he unlocked the door. “Us, if you feel like going for a drive.”

“Now? Dude, we’re at _your_ album release party. It’s not like no one will notice. They’re about to serve dinner,” Louis said, looking at Harry from across the roof.

“I have another party later tonight,” Harry shrugged. “And I know a place we can get better food.”

This felt bold in a way Louis liked. Sometimes he felt like a child whenever Shep got mad at him for skipping something, but in a fun and rebellious type of way. Like skipping class to smoke under the bleachers in high school, where consequences were a mere afterthought. They were adults now, so no one could tell them what to do or where to be, but there were people who did anyway, and like children, they obeyed.

Harry liked to drive fast. Not dangerously fast, but with a quick stop and start at every red light and stop sign. He liked his music loud, too. A Cranberries CD was playing over the stereo, which made Louis feel slightly old because he still used the cassette player in his car. He’d also been driving the same car that he bought with his first big paycheck when he was twenty, so if he wanted a CD player, he was going to need to do some upgrades.

They pulled into a pizza place and Harry ran in alone to get a medium deluxe, knowing that if they both went in their chances of creating a scene went up significantly. Spotting one famous person is a sighting, two is a headline if you find yourself in the presence of the wrong people.

At the top of the hill, still not far from the restaurant, was a small park, empty in the sunset. Harry parked in the back corner, rolled down the windows, and kept the car running. They got out and sat on the hood, a pizza box in front of them, the music just loud enough. The only view was the beams of headlights into the trees in front of them and the blending colours of orange and yellow above them. 

“I read that book you gave me,” Harry said, referring to the last time they saw each other. He had visited Louis at his LA home just last week.

“Did you?” Louis looked up, pleased as he took his first bite of a slice. The cheese was far too stringy, so he was glad they brought napkins. “What did you think?”

“You know, it really made me think a lot. Reflect, I guess. I’ve actually never read a book of poetry before. It felt more real than any other book I’ve read. Like song lyrics. Even if it’s not about the writer’s life, it’s subtle enough to be somebody’s life. Maybe even the reader’s life.”

“Did any of them get you a little teary-eyed?”

Harry laughed, then fell into a little shrug. “I guess so, yeah.”

“It doesn’t take much to get me to cry. That book did a pretty good job of it,” Louis admitted. 

“Crying is good for you,” Harry said with certainty. “I’ll make sure to give it back next time I see you.”

“I have more if you want,” Louis offered. To him, nothing was more flattering than finding out someone genuinely liked his recommendation. 

“I’d love that.”

Even in the most simple of phrases, there was so much sincerity in Harry’s voice. He never had to play it up.

Louis looked at him curiously. Harry had only one knee up, his elbow resting on it as he held the pizza slice in both hands. “If you don’t read much poetry, where do you get inspiration from?” Louis wondered. “I’ve always needed it to write. I think it’s just a matter of flow and rhythm and having that mindset.”

Harry had an answer ready as he wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin. “Other lyrics, which I suppose are also poetry. I read the booklets of every album I buy. The words themselves, I mean, they just come from people. Stories I hear, stories I’ve lived. I’ve thought this for a while, but I think that book helped me articulate it: you can create a whole story out of one emotion. I could write about two characters of my favourite movie and no one would even know because I just extracted how they felt and turned it into something new.”

As Harry spoke, Louis felt through every word, like fingers brushing against a soft blanket. “I like that a lot. Art is just relating things to each other and getting beautiful results. Endless metaphors.”

“Yeah,” Harry said excitedly. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I know exactly which book to give to you next.” Louis’ chin was tilted up in thought, his eyes squinted. “I’m going back to Oregon this week, but I have it here. I’ll get it to you before I go.”

Harry dropped his knee, settling more comfortably. They were in a quiet lull between two songs on the album. “You know, I’ve always wondered why you picked Oregon, of all places to live. Do you have family there or something?” 

Louis shook his head. “That’s why I like it. I don’t know a single person out there, but it’s close enough to home. I have friends over sometimes, and my mom visits when she can.”

“I don’t mean to be a downer, but that sounds quite lonely.”

Louis started chewing slower. The ease Harry said it with—Louis didn’t realize it was so obvious. “It can be,” he said. “But it’s comfortable. I like being alone, most of the time.”

“I do too, but sometimes I wonder if I’ve just gotten used to it,” Harry said passively. He analyzed his slice, then took another bite. 

Louis was getting eager for the topic to change.

“Can I ask why we’re skipping your release party? It just doesn’t seem like you. All those people showed up to celebrate you and Niall and Q and Bex.”

“No,” Harry scoffed. “They’re celebrating money.”

Louis laughed harshly, the sound accompanied by a slow shake of his head. “Oh, no. I think we’ve been hanging out too much.”

Harry matched Louis’ eagerness for the topic to change again.

“You know what I’d love to talk about? Anything that doesn’t have to do with our careers. The subject has been exhausted.”

“Okay,” Louis said slowly, searching his mind and coming up with nothing but shallow results. “What do you want to talk about, then? Clinton? Nelson Mandela? Have you been watching _The X-Files_?”

“No, no,” Harry waved off the suggestions. “Why don’t you tell me a story? Something that’s your go-to if you’re trying to entertain at a party, or something.”

Louis settled back on his elbows, tossing the last of his crust back into the pizza box. “A story, huh?” He looked up at the sky. Not a single star in sight. “What if I don’t know any stories?”

“How about you tell me your favourite memory from being, I dunno, twelve years old?”

What an age, twelve was. The first time life felt confusing. That bridge between true childhood and blossoming adulthood. Louis did have one memory from being twelve that always brought a welcome smile to his face. 

“I used to be friends with this brother and sister who lived across the street from my childhood home. One summer, maybe we weren’t twelve, but somewhere around that age, we decided we wanted to build a boat. Like, our very own right from scratch. There were no ponds or lakes nearby—thankfully because we probably would have drowned—but there was this creek that wasn’t too far away.”

“Thornton Creek?”

“Y-Yeah,” Louis said, then he smiled oddly. “Sorry, sometimes I forget we grew up in the same area.”

“I don’t,” Harry told him. “I know you don’t remember me from high school, but I remember you. When I was a freshman, you were like the resident cool kid in junior year. You and your band played at assembly once a month, do you remember that?”

“Of course,” Louis grinned. “We played at a couple dances, too. But believe me, I was not ‘cool’ in high school. Kids who liked music liked me. Everyone else thought I was a freak.”

“Everyone likes music,” Harry reasoned.

“Yeah, but not… Come on, you know what I mean. Don’t make me sound like an asshole.”

Harry just laughed. “Not _what_?”

Louis shook his head, holding a firm hand of reasoning in the air. “Okay, I’m a changed man now, but don’t pretend you weren’t also the kind of kid who thought pop music wasn’t _real_ music.”

“Never!” Harry declared, sounding almost offended. “I loved Madonna. Still love Madonna. I still have all my Janet Jackson records, too. My sister caught me dancing in the backyard to ‘Nasty’ once when I thought no one was home.”

The image flashed in Louis’ mind, something like Tom Cruise dancing in his underwear to “Old Time Rock ‘n’ Roll” in _Risky Business_. He laughed at the thought, blowing air from his puffed cheeks. “What did she say?”

“What would you do if you walked in on your little brother lip-synching the words ‘Nasty boys let me see your nasty body move’ while doing a bit of this?” Harry demonstrated, quite poorly, a dance move that involved pushing the sides of his chest and hips in opposite directions.

“That is horribly embarrassing and wonderfully hilarious,” Louis said.

Harry settled back down, his cheeks bright red. “What did you listen to in high school?”

“Punk rock, mostly. That’s the kind of music I wanted to make. The Clash, New York Dolls, Patti Smith, that kind of thing. Early punk. Pre-MTV era, back when it was still—”

Harry cut him off with his palm before he used his words. “You were so close to not sounding like an asshole, there. I was about to compliment your taste.”

He was teasing, of course. Louis gave him a playful shove.

“You didn’t tell me the rest of your boat story,” Harry reminded him.

“Oh, right.” Louis paused, trying to find his train of thought. The details always came to him in pieces. “Well, we spent about three days making this horrible boat that was barely even enclosed on the bottom. Doomed from the start, but we were so proud of it. I don’t know how their dad let us use his tools, or why he didn’t help us out. Anyway, we trudged this ugly thing through our neighbourhood to find the one spot where we thought the creek was wide enough to sail in. To be fair, I don’t think any of our parents thought we were actually planning on using the boat because our only transportation options were by foot, bike, or skateboard. That was actually how we moved it. We stuck it on a couple of skateboards and wheeled it there. Once we got into the water, Sammy, the girl, hopped in first. She wanted to be the first to sail it, I guess, and as soon as she did, the boat tilted and steered right into a rock. There wasn’t enough momentum to smash it, but it lodged between two planks and sank the whole thing in seconds. We were devastated. Days of hard work, gone just like that. We fished out the leftover pieces, took them back to their garage, and thought about how we could fix it. Then we realized that, if we actually wanted them to float, we should make our own toy-sized boats and race them. So we took the scrap pieces and cut them up smaller and more boat-shaped and they actually floated. I think we spent the rest of the summer trying to make them better and competing every other day. It ended up being the highlight of our summer.”

When Louis finished, he realized Harry had been staring at him with a smile. He wondered if he was doing that the whole time. Louis’ eyes had been too fixated on the sky to notice.

“That’s actually really sweet,” Harry said. “I wasn’t expecting sweet.”

“What were you expecting?”

“After what I told you? Embarrassing, ideally.”

Louis liked that teasing smile. He liked how Harry wore it so effortlessly and consistently. Always ready for a playful remark, always hoping to keep things light. That was how he allowed himself to be honest. Every joke held equal parts lie and truth.

Not long after, they decided to head back to the party. If they hurried, they’d still make it in time for dessert and could hopefully lessen whatever anger they sparked from Shep and Lori for running away. 

Louis folded the pizza box up and put it in the backseat when they got in. The drive back to the restaurant felt longer, and Louis realized it was because the album ended and Harry never put another one on.

“I heard you weren’t coming to the afterparty,” Harry said as they drove underneath the passing streetlights. Louis watched the window-shaped beams glide across the dashboard.

“Did Liam happen to be your source?”

“Actually, he wished to be kept anonymous.”

Louis found humour in the joke, but he didn’t show it. “I’m not a fan of parties.”

“You know that you can leave early if you’re ever having a bad time.”

“Man, everyone just wants me to change my mind tonight, huh?”

Harry pulled his eyes from the road to glance at him, just for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Louis said, brushing it off. He refused to feel angry about anything that happened tonight. It was actually turning into one of the better outings he’d been on.

When Harry pulled into the parking lot again, switching off the engine in the same stall they left from, he turned to Louis hopefully, his whole body facing him. The way Harry looked at people, strangers, even, was with a glint in his eye that told you something special, even if you didn’t know what it was. It was something he was so blissfully unaware of.

“Come to the afterparty,” Harry said. “I really want you there, if you want to be there.”

If Liam knew how easy Harry had it right now, being able to convince Louis to come with a soft look and a sincere smile, he’d have Harry do all his dirty work for him.

“Just for a little while,” Louis said. “I want to be in bed by midnight.”

Harry’s grin grew wide. “It’ll be so fun,” he told him. “I promise.”

Louis didn’t always consider himself a stranger to the party scene. In the early years of the band, he was out nearly every single night. Bars, shows, friends’ houses, hotels, rented boats, bush parties. He partied in other contents, woke up in places he didn’t remember going to and next to people he didn’t remember meeting. In his late teens and early twenties, that hedonistic lifestyle was what he became accustomed to. He’d tried it all, been the rocketman, then crashed back to earth with a bender that went sideways.

One friend in the hospital was enough of a wakeup call for him. A friend who was now clean, sober, and happy, but it shook Louis up enough to realize that his endless pursuit of an escape could lead him there. That wasn’t what he was trying to do. What started as a fun way to unwind was becoming a lifestyle. 

So he cut it back. Just some weekends, just with friends he knew and trusted. Then he started to see those friends struggle just the same. What was Louis’ Saturday night was their day four. Slowly, he stopped going out, he stopped inviting people over. He escaped alone, in other ways. Reading as much as he could. Writing as much as he could. Consuming every piece of art he could find. He still had a drink every once in a while and smoked with the guys when it was someone else’s idea, but that was it. Nothing harder, never more often.

Louis didn’t know Smudge’s story, but he knew they had a similar idea. Going hard one day a year was enough. Surely there were other drunken nights and smoking weed to relax—at least, that’s what they told themselves. But this was not that. This party was everything, all at once. The kind of party where, by the end of the night, you knew you wouldn’t be seeing straight.

He was not prepared for a night like that.

But Louis had a beer. He had a chair on the patio outside where the music sounded brash and muffled until someone opened a door. Niall was on one side of him and Zayn was sitting across. The umbrella on the table was pushed up even though the sun had set hours ago, but they could see each other better that way.

“I feel like we’re the dads at the barbecue,” Niall said, using his foot to pull the fourth chair closer so he could prop his feet up. “Everyone is in there having fun and we’re sitting on a fucking patio nursing beers.”

“You’re not having fun?” Zayn said, tilting the bottle to his lips.

“There’s a live band in there and we’re just ignoring it.”

“No one is forcing you to stay here,” Louis reminded him, propping his ankle up on his knee.

Niall looked over his shoulder, barely able to see what was going on in the house. All the main lights were off, though someone had stuck lamps behind the stage. Bodies were totally packed inside, right to the windows, which was saying something because the kitchen in this place was the size of Louis’ entire first apartment. Some were dancing, some chatting, some looking for another drink or hit. Liam had drowned himself in that sea of people, and so did the rest of their friends, it seemed. Harry was the one who invited Louis here, yet he hadn’t seen him all night.

“Imagine how stuffy it must be in there,” Niall said, bringing his attention back.

Slowly, the three of them were all realizing that maybe they had outgrown this.

They weren’t alone outside, of course. The mansion had a pool and, naturally, the most inebriated attendees gravitated towards it. A few of them realized that the fencing made it really easy to climb on top of the pool house, and a roof made a much more interesting diving board.

“I should get going soon,” Louis said, feeling a yawn in the back of his throat. Two beers did him in for the night, and with how many people were still coming and going from the front, he was sure he could easily get a cab out of here.

Niall made a show of stretching out his arm so his sleeve would pull back, revealing his watch underneath. “It’s eleven-thirty,” he said.

“That’s a perfectly reasonable time to leave a party,” Louis claimed, both eyebrows raised as he turned to Zayn to back him up.

“Not when you’ve been here for barely an hour,” Zayn laughed.

And that was precisely when Harry showed up, as if his name had been called the moment Louis decided to call it a night. When he spotted Liam in his wake, both of them strolling towards them from the house, Louis instantly knew he was deserving of the blame. As if Liam could read Louis’ mind and just knew that Harry had become his number one persuader.

“Gentlemen,” Harry said, rather theatrically as he stopped in front of them.

Zayn noticed Harry’s hidden hand and tried to peek around his torso. “What is behind your back?” he wondered, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Harry said, with a wide, mischievous grin that matched Liam’s. They both must’ve been scheming something.

“Do you fellas need a little more excitement in your life?” Liam asked like he was narrating a commercial in the ‘50s.

Louis eyed Liam, specifically. “Not sure…”

“Perhaps a little fungal treat would liven you up,” Harry said, revealing the small baggy that he had pinched between his middle and pointer finger.

Niall scrunched up his face. “That is the grossest way you could’ve phrased that,” he said.

Harry ignored the comment as he tossed the baggy on the table between them. The other three leaned forward in intrigue, examining the dried-up clumps. Louis had said that he’d done everything in his brief time immersed in nightlife and poor decisions, but mushrooms were actually something he hadn’t touched just yet.

“I got enough for five,” Harry said. “Are we all in?”

They looked at one another with shallow sighs and questioning eyes that said, “ _Well, are_ you _in?_ ” “ _Should we really be doing this?_ ” “ _Should_ I _really be doing this?_ ” But no one said it out loud as their attention fell back on Harry.

“Sure, I’m in,” Niall said first, leaning forward to rest his beer on the table. He didn’t sound excited so much as confident.

“Hell yeah,” Liam said, giving him a sideways high-five.

Harry looked to the other two: Zayn and Louis. The two most hesitant to be reckless even though they used to be the ones in Harry’s shoes, planning the poor decisions.

“I’ll only do it if you will,” Zayn said, which was not at all the responsibility Louis wanted to be given.

But it was one night of the year. Louis didn’t do this kind of stuff anymore. Except for every once in a while when the company felt right. And tonight, the company felt as good as ever.

“We’re in, too,” he decided.

Harry divided up the bag's contents into everyone’s hands, a couple of grams each. They looked like dried, shrivelled worms with a little knob on the end. Holding their plans for the rest of the night in their palms, they counted together, then at once, slapped their hands to their faces and chewed them up.

Louis never did like the taste of mushrooms, in general, and this was no better. It was dry, almost like sand. Once they all had swallowed, Louis and Liam both taking gulps of beer to get the flavour out of their mouths, they looked at each other again as if to say, “Now what?”

“Now, we wait,” Harry said.

And wait they did.

Louis waited as he went inside to get another beer. As he found two cans in the fridge, one for him and one for Niall, who also wanted a second. And he waited as he found an old producer he used to work with sitting at the table, excitedly asking Louis how he had been through his too-loud voice and wide eyes before introducing him to people he’d surely met once before. Then still as the crowd enveloped him on the dancefloor, his limbs moving to a beat he couldn’t follow. 

As if only seconds had passed, Louis found himself in the basement, chewing on a piece of cold pizza that’s origin was uncertain, listening to someone—Pearl Jam?—’s latest album on the stereo, bass too loud as he sat on the floor next to the couch. At least Zayn was sitting next to him still. Was it Zayn? God, this pizza was so good. The sauce must’ve had extra garlic. Oh, that wasn’t Zayn. It was just a pillow. Where was Zayn?

When did Louis walk down to the basement?

Maybe he wasn’t waiting anymore.

“Do you want this?” Louis said out loud. He was holding out the unfinished slice of pizza to Zayn. No, not Zayn. It was just a throw pillow. 

He twisted his torso around and a girl was sitting on the couch above him. Louis had no idea who she was, but she was staring at him, biting back a laugh. “Do you want this?” he said again.

“Did the pillow say no?”

She laughed to herself, and the friend sitting next to her laughed too. Were they laughing at him? Or maybe he said something funny? Louis let out a loud, single-syllable laugh as he started to stand up. He tossed the slice of pizza back into the box. His packet of cigarettes landed on the table.

Wait, where did the pizza go?

He needed a smoke.

It was too stuffy in here. Too many people saying too many words. He climbed up the stairs, holding onto the railing for dear life. But the stairs kept coming. There were too many. He started counting. Twenty. Thirty. Eighty. Ninety. The stairs started tilting forward. Now he was walking downwards. Straight down. A steep angle like the side of a mountain. Louis snapped his other hand on the railing too, making sure not to fall.

“Dude!”

Louis looked up. He wasn’t falling anymore. Niall was standing above him. Oh, it was so good to see Niall, someone who could pull him off of this mountain. Louis let him be lifted into his arms. It wasn’t his strength that was gone. The fear was just keeping him from moving forward.

“You can’t go off on your own when you’re this high, dude. Where’s Harry?”

Harry? 

Louis thought he asked it out loud, but Niall didn’t answer. He slung one of Louis’ arms around his shoulder, hiking him back to the main floor. Finally, Louis was able to let go of the railing. Niall dragged him all the way to the front porch that wrapped around the house and slumped him down on a wooden chair. The night air cooled him down. There was a fire in his lungs that he needed to be put out.

“Where’s Harry?” Louis said as Niall sat in the chair across from him. He actually got the words out, this time.

“I dunno. You and him left to get a beer from the kitchen.”

Niall pulled two cigarettes from his pack and placed them both in his mouth. He had matches with him, not a lighter. It looked like he was breathing fire when he lit them both. As he shook out the match, he pulled one from his lips and handed it to Louis.

“He must’ve left,” Louis said.

“Who must’ve left?”

“Harry.”

“What about him?”

High could not easily console high. They took the mushrooms together. Louis’ must’ve been working at a rapid pace.

“ _Louis!_ ”

It was not Niall’s voice.

“Did you hear that?” Louis asked.

Niall pinched his eyebrows together. “No, what was it?”

“ _Louis, I’m out here!_ ”

Louis jolted up, the words echoing through his mind. Harry’s words. And they were from out there somewhere. Out in the bushes in front of the house, somewhere deep inside them. Harry was lost out there. Lost and alone and he needed Louis.

“I have to go find him,” Louis said, and he was out of his chair just as fast.

His cigarette dropped to the ground without him taking a single puff. Niall jumped out of his chair, but not to follow him. Just to pick up the smoke off the ground, not wanting it to go to waste. A sober person might’ve been more concerned that it would start the house on fire.

Louis started running. He kept running as the tree branches scraped lightly across his arms and the uneven terrain rolled under his feet. The path ahead of him was becoming narrower and narrower. Had he even been running along a path, or was it of his mind’s own design? He stumbled on an exposed root, looped his arm around a thin tree, then found his footing again.

“ _Louis!_ ”

The voice was getting closer, so he knew he was headed in the right direction. The moon was following him around every curve, guiding him like a searchlight. Harry was lost out there somewhere. He was lost and Louis needed to help him get home.

“ _Louis?_ ”

He wasn’t alone out here. No, there was something following him. Something with heavy feet and shallow breath. Louis was being chased, he knew it. Was there a monster lurking in these woods? A ghost begging to be helped to the other side? Looking over his shoulder, he could see the shaggy brown fur and neon green eyes of the creature on his tail. He felt his eyes turn wild, his teeth clench as he forced his feet faster.

“ _Louis, is that you_?”

_I’m coming, Harry!_ he wanted to shout, but the thought only came and passed in his mind. He stumbled again, this time on a slippery rock. His hands hit the ground first, then his knees before the side of his face caressed a bed of grass. No pain hit him, not then or later. Nothing but bruises that would later spot his skin. Those footsteps were getting closer, the breathing heavier. Stars were dancing above him, twinkling constellations falling from the sky like they were bouncing off a page. Louis closed his eyes tight, his mind spinning out of orbit. Colours burst like fireworks behind his eyelids.

“LOUIS!”

His eyes tunnelled, his ears faded.

The next morning, he awoke on the couch of Harry’s LA home.

### 2019

It was getting late, so Penny and Harry gave up their table in favour of the bar. The restaurant had gotten much quieter as many guests called it a night, or decided to find an atmosphere more akin to a late night out. The music sounded louder only because fewer were people talking over it. There was something refreshing about chatting without the constant muffled voices. 

When the bartender stopped by, Harry had ordered himself a decaf coffee. Penny asked for the same.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked quietly, picking up on the fact that she had been repeating his orders all night. Truthfully, when conducting an interview, Penny didn’t have much mental energy left over to make a decision, even when it came to something as simple as ordering food. Besides, she wasn’t picky.

“I drink my coffee decaf, anyway,” she said. 

They sat facing each other. Penny found it interesting that he was able to turn to her, so open in his posture. Years of interviewing made her quite proficient in the skill of reading body language. The more personal they got, the more she was used to crossed legs and averted eye contact. Harry was showing virtually no signs of discomfort.

“How much can you tell me about what happened at that party?” Penny asked. Giving the option for any answer felt less like she was taking advantage of his openness, even though she knew that was exactly what she was supposed to do.

“That it was fun. Honestly, Louis probably remembered more than I do. Those parties always got out of hand, but that’s why they were a once-a-year thing. I was glad he showed up at all.”

“At this point, you two had gotten quite close,” Penny observed.

“Yes,” Harry said simply. “Our friendship was so easy after that. Being around each other felt cleansing, in a way.”

“What about the date?”

Harry looked at her strangely, lifting his mug for a sip. “Date?”

“Between Louis and Bex. I couldn’t find anything about it in my research and I didn’t remember it at the time, so I assumed it didn’t happen.”

“Right, right. No, it didn’t happen. Q talked Bex out of it. We all knew it was a bad idea from the start, and I was relieved when I found out they weren’t going through with it. The story would spiral if they did, especially in the years following. When I heard about it, I was actually angry. My whole career up to that point, I said yes to nearly everything. That was the one time that I would’ve given a firm no, but it wasn’t my decision.”

“When did you find out about it? Did Bex go to you?”

“I was actually there. When Shep brought it up, I was sitting at the table with Bex. That wasn’t the time or place to discuss it, but I wasn’t going to make a scene, so I stormed off before Louis got there. I didn’t think the conversation was going to happen so fast.”

“And that’s why you left the party, I assume. Because you were angry.”

“That’s what we do, isn’t it? Us moody artists. We throw a fit when things aren’t going our way.”

Harry smiled like he was joking, but every joke held equal parts lie and truth.

On the counter in front of them, Penny watched Harry’s phone light up. She couldn’t read the name on the text before Harry lifted it up to read it. Not that she was trying. It was instinctual for the eyes to draw themselves to a phone notification, these days. As he started typing, Harry apologized for the interruption.

“You said you’re in New York for another day, yes?” Harry asked.

“I am,” Penny confirmed. “I wasn’t sure how much time we needed, so I planned to stay two nights.”

“Would it be alright if we continue this tomorrow? I’ve been renting an apartment nearby. I’ll give you the address.” He was typing in his phone again, most likely in the text conversation they began earlier this week to arrange the meeting. It was the first time Penny had been contacted through the interviewee, themself, as well as their publicist.

“Of course,” Penny said. “What time works best?”

“Is ten tomorrow morning alright? The show is at seven, but I have a few hours beforehand.”

“Perfect,” Penny grinned. 

Harry was already standing up, so Penny followed suit. Her editor had given her a company card to pay for the meal, so she turned to reach for her purse that was strung over the back of her chair. At some point, it must’ve fallen to the floor without her noticing, but Harry was already picking it up before she could get out of her seat.

“Thank you,” Penny said, immediately reaching for her wallet.

“Don’t worry about the bill,” Harry told her. “It was my treat.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I appreciate you meeting with me today. This story is important to me—I mean, it’s my life—and you’ve been so thoughtful in the way you listen. Your questions are meaningful. I can already tell you’re going to do it justice.”

Penny smiled kindly, but with a slight bit of unease. “I’m glad you feel that way,” she said. “And thank you for dinner.”

“My pleasure.” He reached out to shake her hand, but it felt friendly more than formal. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~

Louis walked Penny to the front door. It was nearing dinner time now, and Louis had mentioned earlier that he was only available until four. Penny was quite happy with how much they had gotten through today. Honestly, with a whole decade that needed to be dissected, she thought she could be here for up to a week, but Louis assured her it wouldn’t take that long. Another day, at the most.

“Same time tomorrow?” Louis asked.

“Sounds great,” Penny said.

“I meant to show you my studio, but I guess we never got around to it. If you want, we could do the interview there.”

Penny lit up. “That would be perfect, actually. I’d love to see it.”

She knew this was the studio from the stories. The one Louis had disappeared to for each album, finding inspiration in the solitude. Part of her was surprised that he had kept the same house for so long, but then she remembered that he said his mother was still living in his childhood home. Whatever was tying her there must’ve been similar to whatever was tying Louis here.

“Did you like that tea?” Louis asked, referring to the four cups worth that was currently running through Penny’s veins.

“I loved it,” Penny said. “What kind did you say it was? I might have to pick some up.”

“You know what, I have so much of it stored in the cupboard. Let me grab you a couple of boxes to take home.”

He was gone to the kitchen before Penny could reply, but she was quite okay with the gift.

In Louis’ brief absence, Penny felt her phone vibrate in her jacket pocket. She was usually the type to have a ringtone, but not during an interview. The screen was already on when she lifted it out. Two missed calls and five text messages. That would be normal if it wasn’t for the fact that they were all from her editor, who knew where she was today. But as her eyes scanned the words, Penny’s jaw fell open.

_2:46 PM: Huge news!_

_3:09 PM: Call me the second you get a break._

_3:32 PM: I know you’re interviewing today, but I can’t keep it to myself._

_3:50 PM: CALL ME_

_4:08 PM: Fuck it, I’ll just tell you. Harry Styles agreed to the interview!! Penny, this is going to complete the entire project. You’re flying to New York next week!_


	2. Chapter 2

### 2019

Early the next morning, before Penny even woke up, she got a text from Harry asking her to let him know when she was outside the building. She thought it would be so he could meet her at the door and let her up, but instead, he walked out of those double doors in a pea coat—distinguished for his age—with his hands in the pockets as he marched down the stone steps.

“There’s a lovely cafe down the road. I was thinking we could get a coffee and walk around the park while we chat. Does that sound alright?”

Penny briefly thought over the balancing act she’d have to do with her notes, her phone to record, and a cup of coffee, but she decided she could manage. She was pretty sure she had another copy of notes on her phone, anyway.

“Lead the way,” she said.

Strolling to the end of the block, they didn’t jump right back into the story. Harry asked her how she was enjoying her stay and Penny said that she always loved visiting the city. Penny asked if he liked living here more than LA, where he normally worked from.

“I prefer being home,” he said. “But I like the city, too. And I’ve been loving this Broadway gig.”

There were only about two weeks left in the run of his show, but it was only meant to last a few months. Penny wondered what his plans were once it was finished, but she resisted the urge to ask and get them off-topic.

The cafe was small with tables and chairs that only fit two, but most were occupied by a person and their laptop. It was the kind with chalkboard menus and a single brick wall, hanging plants decorating the ceiling. There were no places left to sit, but they were planning on taking theirs to-go, anyway.

When they approached the till, the barista seemed to know Harry already and asked if he’d like his usual. 

“Do you like flat whites?” Harry asked Penny. When she said yes, he followed up the question with, “What kind of milk?”

“Two percent is fine, thanks.”

He asked for oat milk in his, which Penny took note of. Not for the interview or anything, though the detail was interesting coming from him. The person she remembered him as was the face of punk rock for years, but she supposed it was pretty punk to be conscious of what you consume.

“Oh, could you make hers decaf?” Harry asked, then turned to Penny. “You said you only drink decaf, right?”

“Yes,” Penny said quickly, surprised he remembered. She barely even remembered that they had coffee after dinner last night.

Since Penny was standing closer to the till, she had a chance to sneakily pay the second barista who took over while Harry made casual conversation with the girl making the drinks. Penny watched the realization hit Harry that he hadn’t yet paid as he dug into his pocket for his wallet.

“Don’t worry,” Penny told him. “My treat.”

Technically, it was her publisher’s treat, but she still felt better about it. Penny had quickly noticed that Harry had a knack for making anyone feel like a friend. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how things worked in a journalistic setting. You can’t be impartial with a friend.

Once they got outside, Penny didn’t want to waste any more time. She took a slow sip, careful not to burn her tongue, then got right to her notes.

“Yesterday, we left off with the album release party. Was there anything else that happened between then and the tour, or was that the natural next step?”

“Tour is always the natural next step,” Harry said. “But for this album, we didn’t plan the tour before the release. We thought we’d give it a few months and take a little break from performing, just do a few shows here and there. But at the end of ninety-four, Fearless Doe was planning on releasing their next album, as well. That gave the label an idea.”

Penny nodded. “The joint tour.”

“We all thought it was a great idea. There would be double-night arena shows and stadiums for a few bigger cities. We hadn’t played stadiums yet, but Fearless Doe did a one-night-only show in LA once and packed the house. At that point, we were all getting along great, so we couldn’t wait to get on the road together. A full year was longer than we’d ever done before, but we agreed to _just_ tour. No big press days unless it was the odd radio show and no writing unless the inspiration struck. The days were still long, but it was a lot more fun. It felt like I was going on a big trip with my friends, and touring had never felt like that before. The pressure dissolved a bit, at first.”

“But you didn’t make it through the whole year,” Penny pointed out.

“You’re getting ahead of me,” Harry playfully warned her. “It was never a trainwreck from the start like everyone seemed to think. I thought it was going to be the time of my life.”

“Was it?”

Harry thought about it carefully. He was holding his cup with both hands to feel its warmth. “It was,” he decided. “I know how it ended, but some of my favourite memories are from that tour. I don’t regret any of it.”

“What about the D.C. show?”

Harry smiled. His smiles were losing their amusement. “I’ll get to that,” he said.

### March, 1995

On their own, Smudge and Fearless Doe shows were always loud, but these shows were _loud_. Not every night was sold out, but the stadiums and arenas were packed with fans from the barricade all the way up to the nosebleeds. Each show felt more spectacular than the last. Besides festivals, none of them had ever played to a crowd that was this riled up—this electric— _every single night._

The tour had been called the _Friends of Mine World Tour_ , but as time went on, it was dubbed _The Tour of ‘95_. For the first half of the year, they played South America and then North America. In the second half, they were to tour Europe, Australia, and Asia. Over the summer, they would mostly have time off, but a few festivals had been booked, as well. It would be a busy year, but going out on the road was always thrilling.

At first, planning out the setlist was a little confusing. They didn’t want one band to feel like an opener for the other, but blending the performances would get a little hectic backstage. In the end, they decided to take turns with two fifteen-song sets to really give the fans their money’s worth. Some nights Smudge would go first, and other nights they’d close out the show. It kept the energy dynamic as the weeks and months went on. They never knew how warm of a crowd they were going to get.

But what Harry found the most exciting was seeing each other perform every night. The bands’ music may have been in the same genre, but the ways they took over those stages were so different. Fearless Doe were three guys, all with their own instruments. That meant a lot of solos blaring over screams, sustained bends that blasted through the crowd. Picks that went from being bitten between Zayn’s teeth to flying through the air into a fan’s hand. The stage had a catwalk, at Harry’s request, but Fearless Doe took full advantage. Louis loved having the space to roam, so he had mics set up at three different spots, just to see where he ended up. What side of the room’s energy was calling him. Lately, he was finding he liked to go without his bass for certain songs, so they had a touring musician on hand. He liked to lose the stand and just sing to the room, reaching an arm out to the spotlight so everyone else could reach back. 

The way Louis performed never felt like a service. It was not a debt he owed the fans, but an opportunity. He was creating a space for them all to get lost in together. To experience this music as a group who could sing as loud as they wanted, cheer as much as they wanted, and feel all those emotions together, whether it be deep sorrow or every ounce of elation in the world. But at the same time, the songs were for the individual. All the words, every lyric, was a gift to be interpreted by the listener. And here, among nameless friends, they would feel through their own meanings, remember their own lives and how the music touched them in ways no one else would understand. Louis was no exception, but he was the vessel, and he could feel the connection jolt through the room as the night went on.

They had a moment in the middle of the set where Louis walked to the end of the catwalk. He just sat there with his eyes closed and sang quietly, all alone. It wasn’t their song—it was a cover of “Something in the Way” by Nirvana. A quiet tribute to a great loss in music that happened just last year. One that felt unspeakable, even to those who never knew him. So they didn’t speak, but they remembered. Every single night on tour.

When they made the setlist, Louis never suggested adding the tribute. He simply said that he _was_ performing that song. He didn’t care what anyone else thought about the matter. But in this case, no one pushed back. These shows united fans of music, and this was a tragedy they all felt together.

The shift in energy was difficult to come back from, so it took a slow ascend. Even when he wasn’t here, Kurt was a hard act to follow.

Then Smudge came in, and while Fearless Doe made everyone want to cry or scream in the best way, Smudge made them want to jam.

Harry hated a mic stand. It just didn’t work for him. He had to be everywhere at once, every round of applause a boost of adrenaline. The bright lights beamed on him like he was a solar panel. When Harry walked on that stage, he disappeared and let his frontman persona take over. He was good at seducing the crowd, but never on purpose. A dreadful, graceful tease. A few times, he decided to hop over the barrier and join the audience, and he got a post-show lecture for it each time. Eventually, he had to stop because the pit could become dangerous if he riled everyone up, so he changed it up and did a lap of the perimeter every night just to envelop the audience. To look into as many eyes as he could, watching the passion as they sang the words to each other.

Once he felt he’d given the room a metaphorical hug, he’d run back to centre stage, dripping in sweat, and make everyone yell with him. A mid-show stretch. “If you bust your vocal cords tonight, it’ll feel like the best goddamn hangover tomorrow,” he’d tell them. A busted voice was an achievement for concert goers. Just like ringing ears as you stumbled home, high on thrill with goosebumps that felt like they’d never go away

These kinds of shows were not doctor recommended.

Backstage, after the encore when fans were still screaming, that high remained. It was unreal that they got to play these shows and witness one all in the same night. For Smudge, it felt like their first tour all over again. Like the grand reward for all their efforts, and they got to share it with thousands of friends every night. And three more, who they got to celebrate with once they got back on the bus that night. 

As exhausted as they all felt, it was impossible to go to sleep the hours following the show. Sometimes they’d drink and have a little party, and sometimes they’d just stay up and chat or play board games at the table. The bands each got their own bus, as well as a couple more for the crew, but they ended up blending together in the first week. You never knew who you were going to find in the kitchen when you woke up in the morning.

However, spending that much time with Q—who was known for sporting a new Kool-Aid dye job every week—in a cooped up tour bus where everyone quite literally had to live on top of each other... Well, that was how Louis ended up with bleached hair.

“Holy shit,” Harry gasped when he walked into Louis’ dressing room the night of their Buenos Aires show. He’d gotten word from Liam that his presence was requested.

“Looks pretty sick, huh?” Louis said. He was admiring his new look in the mirror, shaking out his nearly shoulder-length locks and pushing them out of his eyes again.

Harry stood behind him, making eye contact in the mirror. “So that’s why you and Q ran out to the drug store this morning.”

“Do you like it?”

“Whose idea was it?”

“Mine. She was pretty excited to help, though.”

Harry walked from one side to the other to see how the light hit it. The fact that it was Louis’ head sporting this new colour was hard to believe. 

“It suits you,” he decided, crossing his arms together. “You look so different, but yeah, it’s sick.”

“I’m not done yet.” 

With a mischievous grin, Louis reached back into the drugstore bag and pulled out a jar that looked to hold bright pink goo.

“That’s not Kool-Aid,” Harry said, quite pointedly. 

“Q had to meet Bex for lunch and wasn’t sure if she’d have time to do the second dye before the show tonight. Have you ever dyed hair before?”

“You do know we have stylists on this tour,” Harry said slowly.

“Yeah, but they’ll do too good of a job. I want it sloppy.”

Harry had to laugh with a bow of his head. “Of course you do,” he said, snatching the jar from Louis’ hand. He twisted it between his fingers to read the label, the word “semi-permanent” jumping out at him.

“I think all you have to do is rub it in like shampoo, right?”

“I guess so,” Harry said with absolutely no confidence. He opened the lid and raised the jar to his nose to smell it. He didn’t know why he expected anything other than the scent of chemicals.

“You sure you want me to do it?”

“Just go for it,” Louis said before he could have his mind changed.

“Alright,” Harry sighed. If Louis was well-enough prepared for the disaster this would entail, then Harry was willing to partake in the hasty decision. There was no taking back the blonde, now. What was one more colour? 

Harry put the lid down on the counter, dug a scoop of the dye out with one hand, then rested the jar next to it.

“Wait, what are you doing?!” Louis exclaimed, whipping his head around.

Harry’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“You’re supposed to put _gloves_ on. Your hands are going to be bright pink!”

Harry was already rubbing the dye between his hands like you would when washing your hair. It was a little too late to go back from this now. “Whatever,” he said, shifting to stand behind Louis.

Louis turned back around, slowly shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god…”

With no real plan of approach, Harry started slathering the dye into the top of Louis’ head, brushing up the long side strands with it. Not getting it on Louis’ ears, neck, or forehead wasn’t something he had yet considered.

“Make sure you get right to the roots,” Louis said, watching his hands move in the mirror. 

Harry had his lips bitten together in concentration, tilting his head from side to side to peak at odd angles. There was a leftover tool resembling a paintbrush that Q had used, but Harry didn’t bother with it. Louis did say he wanted it to look sloppy.

“You know what,” Harry began, taking a step back with his bright pink hands up like a cactus. “I think this is going to suit you even better than the blonde.”

“You don’t like the blonde,” Louis said, amused more than offended.

“When this washes out in a month, you could change it to anything else you want. Blue, purple, green…”

“Now that you mention that, maybe Q had the right idea with the Kool-Aid.”

Harry let out a laugh. “You’ve already committed, now.”

Taking another big scoop from the jar, Harry went for the hair above his neck next. Louis scrunched his shoulders, tickled by his touch.

“Do you want a pink neck?”

“It’s cold!”

There was already a giant smear of pink at the top of his spine, so it was too late. At least his hair would cover it.

“You are going to be hated by so many parents and grandparents for this,” Harry said. They were already pretty hated by parents and grandparents—the generation who practically invented rebellion through music. In this case, it was an honour to be used by kids for rebellion.

“Who cares,” Louis groaned. “I want pink hair. Is that blasphemy? Is it the new symbol for saying ‘fuck the government’ or something?”

Harry snorted. “Coming from you, it might be. No one forgot about you telling the president to go fuck himself.”

With a thoughtful tilt of his head, Louis nodded. “Good,” he said. “I didn’t tell him to go fuck himself, though. Given the opportunity, I absolutely would.”

Harry thought back to the week Louis’ famous VMA stunt made headlines. Some supported him wholeheartedly, others demanded an apology. Louis wouldn’t even consider it. 

“Why’d you do it, anyway?” Harry wondered.

Louis tried to meet his eye in the mirror. Harry didn’t notice at first, but he felt an intensity in the gaze. “You know why,” he said. “I was angry and I had every right to be. Anyone who defended him was just as much to blame.”

He was right, but all Harry could do was nod. The subject was too difficult to talk about, especially now. He had nothing new to contribute. Nothing that wasn’t more grief or outrage at the negligence. For his own wellbeing, he had to decide that he didn’t want to feel those things _all the time_ , and that it was okay to not want that.

Once Louis’ head was sufficiently pink, Harry announced that he was finished. He took a closer look at the roots, since that seemed to be a concern of Louis’, then decided that he did the best he could.

“That’s really fucking pink,” Louis said, turning his head from side to side to check Harry’s work. “It almost looks red.”

“I’m sure it won’t be as intense when you wash it out.”

He was leaning into the mirror quite closely, making sure there wasn’t too much dye on his face. Then he got a look at Harry, who was still standing behind him.

“Harry, your hands!”

Louis lifted Harry’s wrist, staring at it in horror. It looked like Harry had dipped them in a bucket of berries and used them as soap.

“It’ll wash off,” Harry said passively.

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “In a few days, maybe. Dude, it’s dye. It stains your skin.”

“Well,” Harry began, trying to come up with another excuse and ultimately falling short. His mouth sputtered onto a laugh. 

Louis dropped Harry’s wrist in defeat. “You’re a culprit, now. Can’t exactly cover the evidence, unless you want to wear gloves on stage tonight. Might as well use them for something.”

“Stop worrying about me and go wash your hair,” Harry told him, turning to the sink in the counter to rinse off what he could. There was a locker room shower around the corner from the dressing room for Louis to use. “I want to see how it turned out.”

“That’s not how it works,” Louis said. “I have to let it sit for, like, twenty minutes, then I can wash it out.” He had a little timer that Q left behind with all her stuff. Twisting it for twenty minutes, he rested it back on the counter and let it hum quietly.

It took quite a bit of scrubbing for Harry to get off even the first layer of dye. He used about three pumps of soap, but all he ended up with was pink soap. Once he finally gave up, he flicked the excess water into the sink and searched for a towel. Ideally, a towel that wasn’t white. In his search and ultimate discovery of a dark blue hand towel, Harry found that Q had left her entire makeup bag here.

“What was this for?” Harry wondered, lifting it by the strap. He quickly realized his mistake when it fell open, spilling makeup brushes and eyeliner all over the counter. Apparently, she never bothered to zip it back up.

Louis stood to help him tidy the mess. “She was doing her makeup while we were waiting for the bleach to sit,” he explained. “I guess she forgot to take it.”

Harry wasn’t going to pretend he’d never seen makeup before. He went through a smudged eyeliner phase and still dawned the look on stage every once in a while. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been covered in powder every time he had a TV appearance, either. Not to mention that, while it may not have been the same, he was known for his occasional black or red nail polish. Navy blue was also a great colour. But at every bottle, tube, pencil, and compact that spread out in front of him, he took a closer look before dropping it back in the bag.

“Maybe I should shake up my look a bit tonight, too,” Harry said. He was holding a small jar in his hand, peering at the glittery blue inside.

“Sure, go for it,” Louis said passively.

“What part of the face would you put this on, do you think?”

Louis lifted his head in interest, stepping closer to take a look at the jar. “Glitter, huh? A bit on the cheeks, maybe.” He brushed a finger across his own cheekbone to show him.

“Do you think it’d be too flashy?”

Louis tilted his head from side to side, pouting his lips. “Why don’t we try it out and see? Come here.”

He took the jar from Harry’s hand and nodded towards the couch. He grabbed the makeup bag, as well, picking it up carefully so he wouldn’t spill it again. Harry tucked himself into one corner, turning sideways with one leg underneath him. Louis sat on the opposite side of the crease, but pretty much in the middle. He was digging in the bag for something else and ended up pulling out a clear tube.

“Come closer,” Louis told him. “I can’t reach you from over there.”

Harry pushed his fists into the couch to scoot further up. His knee pressed against Louis’ leg and he was about to back up, but Louis said, “That’s better,” with a pleasant grin, so he stayed put.

“Is that lip gloss?” Harry said, watching him unscrew the cap.

“I need something to make it stick. It’ll probably work, right?”

Harry grimaced. “I mean, it is sticky.” This was just a trial run, anyway, so he didn’t really care. They could ask Q for a better way to do it, later. Or the stylists who they paid for this reason.

“Do this.” Louis twisted his mouth to one side to make his cheekbone pop out. Harry copied him. “Perfect,” Louis grinned, brushing a stroke of gloss across his cheek. He put the wand back in the container, using his finger to dab it flat.

“That feels like it’s not meant for a cheek,” Harry said.

Louis laughed. “Skin is skin. Who cares?”

Once he seemed satisfied with the coverage, he reached for the glitter next. The cap was still off, the jar resting on the table next to the couch. Harry watched as Louis dipped his pointer finger in, then brought it just below his eye. He rested his thumb and two other fingers on his cheek to steady his hand.

“Oh, yeah, this looks badass,” Louis said.

Harry perked up. “Does it?”

“Yeah, very David Bowie. Like glam rock meets garage rock. You should make this your thing.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Harry teased. He wasn’t even sure he could pull it off for one night, never mind every night.

Once Louis was content with his work on one side, he searched for the lip gloss tube again. He must not have put it back in the bag, so he patted the couch around him, then stood up to get a better look at where it could’ve fallen.

“Are you looking for this?” Harry said, holding the tube up while staying still. “You dropped it in my lap.”

“Yes,” Louis said, snatching it gratefully. When he sat back down, his leg was entirely aligned against Harry. “And sorry.”

Harry breathed a laugh, though he was trying to look up and away since Louis was about six inches from his face. “It’s fine,” he said.

Louis got to work on the other side next, this time being a little more generous with the gloss. He had gotten quite into his work, his piercing eyes deeply focused. There was something endearing about having someone touch your face, even in such an innocent way. A layer of trust had to be there, especially when the person had no idea what he was doing. That didn’t stop Louis from asserting his own confidence. But the longer Harry had this stuff on his face, the more he could smell the strong, sweet scent of strawberries.

“Is this flavoured lip gloss?”

Instead of smelling the tip of the wand or the finger he had been applying it with, Louis leaned in to sniff Harry’s cheek. Harry could feel the short breath as he did so, out then in, soft and gentle. The hairs on the back of his neck crept up.

“I think so,” Louis decided. “Smells good, though.”

Then came another layer of glitter.

“I’m not sure Q is going to like us using her makeup,” Harry said, realizing he was only speaking so he didn’t have to think too hard about his every move.

“Would you like me to scrape the glitter off your face and put it back?”

Harry snorted. “I’m just saying, this could be unsanitary or something.”

“I’ll buy her new makeup, then,” Louis said. “But I think she’s going to be too impressed with this to care.”

He pulled his hand away, taking one last pleased look at his work.

“Can I look?” Harry said excitedly, his feet already planted on the ground.

“Mirror’s right there.” Louis pointed to the handheld one that was sitting on the table. It must’ve been with Q’s makeup bag, as well.

Harry lifted the mirror in front of his face, wasting no time checking out the results. A generous helping of glitter was splattered in a curved triangle underneath his eye. Thick at first, but it faded as it curved around his eye and up to his brow bone. It wasn’t quite even on both sides, but it looked bold and glamorous. On his face, he thought, it was totally punk rock. Not weird, which was kind of what he was expecting. Unless you were Bowie, guys didn’t do stuff like this at the time. The glitter was thin, almost like a dusting. It shimmered brighter as he moved his face from side to side.

“Do you like it?” Louis asked with a hopeful tone.

“I really do,” Harry said, continuing to stare at himself. He loved watching it sparkle. “I think I want to do this for the show tonight,” he decided.

“You should,” Louis agreed easily. “It’s too high on the left side, though. Let me fix it.”

Harry lowered the mirror, letting Louis shuffle closer to him again. He had a makeup wipe in his hand, his finger poking into it to be more precise. With his other hand, he carefully lifted Harry’s jaw to hold him steady. Before, Louis seemed hesitant to touch him any more than absolutely necessary, but their close proximity eased them both into comfort. Harry wondered if Louis’ face really needed to be this close to see what he was doing. So close that Harry could see the soft texture of Louis’ skin, not a single blemish across his nose and cheeks. The dye from his hair had most definitely ended up on his forehead. There was a bright streak next to his right eye, the colour matching Harry’s hands.

He also wondered if it really took this long to wipe down the glitter. It seemed like Louis hadn’t even glanced at the other side yet to make sure they were even. Harry could tell because he couldn’t help but look at Louis’ eyes. He could see each individual eyelash, long and flayed like Louis had done something to make them that way. But he hadn’t because Harry had noticed them before, reaching out like sunflowers growing towards the sun.

They must’ve felt it at the same time. Something like electricity or magnets or whatever other science that could be used to describe such instant attraction. Louis’ lips were right there, so close that it felt inevitable. All Harry had to do was tuck his chin into one side. Louis just had to drop his gaze, his head falling into it. 

And so, they melted together. A kiss that felt like a slow wave crashing to shore, their mouths following that motion. Louis’ arms fell around Harry’s neck, hanging loose over his shoulders. Harry wanted to pull him closer, but he let his hands stay at his waist. He let the kiss be hesitant and uncertain. An exploration of one another, but only a step further. One that would start and end upright on this couch. A slow discovery that felt careful and sweet against his lips. But one that would end with the timer in three… two… one…

Louis pulled away first, the beeping at the vanity having startled him. His fingers that were knotting themselves into the back of Harry’s head fell down to his shoulders, then Louis let go of his hold altogether.

“My hair,” he said, his voice cracking because he had to force noise out of it. Harry could see in his eyes that his head was spinning. Harry’s was too.

“You should probably wash out that dye,” Harry told him. He looked at the top of Louis’ head, then down to his lips again. They were practically the same colour.

“I should,” Louis said. His eyes were all over the place. Harry couldn’t meet them.

“Come back and show me after,” Harry said, finally deciding he was okay with parting ways. He sat back just as Louis started to stand up.

Louis was searching the room for his towel. It was hanging over the chair in front of the vanity, but he must’ve forgotten. “You’ll still be here?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. He spotted the makeup bag that was still on the table and reached for it. “I think I’m going to do my eyeliner while you’re gone. It’ll complete the look.”

Louis finally found his towel and bundled it in his arms. He took another look around the room, trying to figure out if he needed anything else, but the towel was really all that was necessary. “I’ll be right back,” he said, opening the door and backing out, carefully pulling it closed behind him.

As soon as he was alone, Harry collapsed backwards onto the couch cushion, breathless as he tried to ground himself. His mind was blank except for one lingering feeling. A beautiful, warm, delicate feeling that he was going to keep replaying for the rest of the day. One that he’d be waiting patiently, yet eagerly to happen again. That’s what he felt as the euphoria dripped from his mind.

Harry raised his hands above him, shifting his focus from the ceiling to them. He realized then that every time he looked at his hands in this state, he would think of that kiss once more.

But the dye faded before his lips could meet Louis’ again.

### 2019

“That’s something you haven’t shared before,” Penny said, keeping her expression steady.

“Well, that’s what happened.”

Louis already had the tea steeping by the time Penny walked through the door for their second day of interviewing. A plate of mini muffins and a bowl of mixed fruit were sitting on the table as well, and even though Penny already had breakfast, she took a lemon poppyseed one off the tray. It was much sunnier out today, so they sat outside with their drinks and food. Louis was letting the dogs run around on the grass, and they somehow knew not to get too close to the water without someone down there with them. But Penny had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing that basement studio. Knowing how many records Louis had made there, how many songs she had grown up listening to that were recorded in this very house, it was like witnessing a piece of music history. She still wasn’t quite sure she was able to comprehend that.

“How did it turn out?” Penny asked.

Louis plucked a strawberry from the bowl by its stem. “What?”

“The hair.”

“Oh.” He broke into a smile, laying the fruit on his plate. Both of his hands wrapped around his mug, his heels kicked together under the table. Just like yesterday, he had settled for trackies and a sweatshirt, this one with a folded collar and a quarter-length zipper. Feeling more relaxed, Penny showed up in jeans and with her hair up in a ponytail. This time, the conversation felt more like one between friends.

“The hair turned out pretty cool,” Louis said. “The dye lasts for like two weeks or something, so I kept redoing it in different colours. Kind of like Q did, but she did just the ends of her hair. Dip dye? Is that what that’s called?”

Penny nodded along. “I’ve seen the pictures. I liked when you did that mix of pink and green.”

“Did you?” Louis laughed. “I thought it looked god awful. It was supposed to be purple and blue, but the colours blended weird.”

“Did Harry always help you do it?”

“Sometimes,” Louis said. “Or I’d just do it myself. I never asked the stylists we brought along. I don’t think they wanted to touch that drug store Maniac dye, or whatever it was called.”

Penny knew the correct name because she had spent much of the mid-nineties torturing her own hair with it as well, but she didn’t correct him.

She looked down at her notes, skimming over the questions she had prepared. After yesterday, Penny was quickly realizing that this interview wasn’t so much of a Q & A as it was Louis talking and Penny listening. Sometimes she’d prod further, but only Louis knew what was coming next. Until he stopped talking altogether, then it was up to Penny to keep things moving.

“After that moment in your dressing room, did you and Harry continue to develop your relationship?” she asked, casually crossing one leg over the other.

Louis had his head turned to one side, watching his dogs get into a playful tussle. “No,” he said. “It was a lot more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“When did you meet your wife?” Louis asked.

Penny cleared her throat, her brain shifting gears. She wasn’t used to interviewees who liked to ask questions, but she had learned quite quickly that Louis wasn’t the typical interviewee.

“In college. I used to write articles for a feminist art zine and she was one of the co-founders. We started dating when we were twenty and have been together ever since. Actually, one of our first dates was seeing Smudge in ninety-five.”

“You’re kidding. Which show?”

“The festival in D.C.”

Louis pressed his lips together, nodding slowly. They hadn’t gotten to the D.C. show yet. “You witnessed quite a night, then.”

“You know,” Penny began, moving her notebook from her lap to the table and folding her hands on top of it, “I wrote about you saying ‘Fuck the president’ on MTV when I wrote for that zine. It felt like a moment of solidarity to those of us who were being ignored by the administration. I felt the same way after the show in D.C. The article I wrote on that show got me into my master’s program. Because of that, I always kept a close eye on what you all did. You made people like me feel safe, and we were cheering you on from the sidelines. I’m sure you’ve been told this before, but I just wanted you to know that those things never went unnoticed by the people they were meant to impact the most.”

Louis smiled with just the corner of his mouth, patting his heart. “Thank you for saying that. I’m not the one who was responsible for the D.C. show, though.”

“Maybe you can pass the message along, then.”

“I will,” Louis said without hesitation.

A quiet moment passed, birds chirping in the tree next to the deck. Nearly an hour had gone by, which Penny knew meant Louis was going to offer another cup of tea at any moment. She was glad the cups he used were small because she wasn’t sure how much more caffeine her blood could handle. Or her bladder.

“What else happened on tour, then? I assume there wasn’t quite a straight line between the story you just told me and the last show,” Penny said, no pun intended.

“You know, I’ll tell you one thing about tour,” Louis said, wagging his finger. “You never want to have to share a bus with a bunch of sweaty dudes while driving through the desert.”

### April, 1995

Being awake on the tour bus while the sun was up was never ideal. If Louis had been able to stick to his schedule, he’d be in bed by one or two in the morning, and awake around ten the next day, when they were supposed to be arriving in the next city. Nine hours seemed like a long time to sleep, but that was just how long he spent in his bunk. With all the rocking bumps and loud noise from sleeping inside a moving vehicle, he was lucky to get six hours of real shut-eye.

But this morning, he found himself wide awake at eight a.m., leaving him with an hour of tossing and turning before he finally gave up. His stomach was growling, anyway, and he knew Zayn had bought toaster waffles yesterday.

Niall’s voice was faint in the other room. “Are you crazy?! What shape do you think his skull is, then?” 

Trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, Louis slid open the divide between the bunks and kitchen area of the bus. This may have been Arizona, but the blasting air conditioner all night made him wake up with a chill, so he had to pull a long-sleeved shirt over his head. There was one crumpled on the floor in front of his bunk, so he grabbed it without thinking twice.

“What shape do you think Beavis and Butt-Head’s skulls are?” Liam argued back. The two of them were sitting on either side of the table with cups of coffee from the drip pot they found in the cupboard on the first day of tour. Sometimes gas station coffee just didn’t do the trick.

“That’s not the same thing. They don’t have spikes coming out of their head.”

Whatever was happening, Niall seemed the most heated about it and Louis couldn’t even see his face. Who he could see was Liam, who was sitting in front of the window, and Zayn next to him, who was hunched over a plate of toaster waffles covered in jam.

“How do you explain Marge, then? Why is she the only one in the family whose hair doesn’t match her skin?”

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Louis said, reaching for a mug out of the cupboard.

“Liam thinks that Bart Simpson’s hair is really just the shape of his head,” Niall told him.

“It is!” Liam insisted. “They’re cartoon characters. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Then why would some characters grow hair and others wouldn’t? It’s just not consistent.”

“Bald people exist, Niall.”

Louis took his coffee with a little bit of cream and just one sugar. Someone had bought packets of sugar instead of one big bag, so there were stray pieces of paper all along the counter, some with coffee stains on them from being used as a spoon rest.

“Zayn, you mind if I have one of your Eggos?” Louis asked, already taking the box from the freezer.

“All yours,” Zayn said casually. He looked like he could use another cup.

While he waited for his breakfast to toast, Louis turned to lean against the counter, taking small sips of his too-hot coffee just to taste it. Niall turned to look at him over his shoulder, his arm rested along the top of the seat.

“Nice shirt,” Niall said.

Louis looked down to see that the shirt he had picked up was, in fact, Smudge merch. It was the white long-sleeve with grey splatter printed on it, back from their first album release. Louis did own a couple of Smudge t-shirts from catching up with the merch crew early into the tour, but he didn’t have this one.

“I’m pretty sure it’s yours,” Louis said. Niall had been sleeping in the bunk above his, so it would make sense that he picked it up. Clothes had wound up scattered all over that floor daily, so accidentally sharing a shirt every once in a while was inevitable.

“I don’t typically wear our own merch,” Niall said. “Feels too, you know, ‘look at me!’”

Louis took a glance behind him at Liam, who had seemingly gone to sleep in a Fearless Doe shirt from their last European tour. He had looked down at it in mild, fleeting embarrassment as he crossed his arms over his chest. Louis hid his smile behind his mug.

“Anyone else up yet?” Louis wondered, deciding he should probably get out a plate and a knife. Zayn had the right idea with the jam.

“Don’t think so,” Niall said. “It was a late one last night.”

“I see that,” Louis said, staring at the stack of plastic cups in the sink. At least someone had the decency to collect them all instead of leaving them out for the morning. Louis didn’t participate much in the post-show antics last night. For some reason, drinking mixed with sleeping in the bunks always gave him strange dreams. And terrible, terrible hangovers.

Zayn leaned back from his plate, looking Niall up and down. Something told Louis that their guest from the Smudge bus was the one responsible for the late night. “I guess we’ve adopted you, have we?” Zayn said.

“You guys have better AC in here,” Niall reasoned. “Whose idea was it to do a tour this close to the equator in the summer?”

“It’s still April,” Liam told him.

“Is it?!” Niall exclaimed, reaching a hand down to adjust his shorts. “Holy hell. I’m going to be sweating my balls off for three more months.”

Scrunching his nose, Louis realized he picked the wrong moment to sit down next to Niall. He shot him a dirty look, then scooted closer to the end of the cushioned bench. Louis had brought the jam and crispy waffle with him to the table, getting it ready there instead of trying to find a free spot at the counter.

“Speaking of Smudge, did anyone see Harry last night?” Liam asked, seemingly struck with curiosity. “He kinda disappeared after the show.”

“I think he stayed back on the Smudge bus with Q and Bex and them,” Louis said, his cheek stuffed full of waffle.

“He’s been a bit of a flake lately,” Niall said. “I think it was something Lori said to him the other day. Seemed to bug him.”

Louis looked up, then shot his eyes back to his plate as he stabbed another chunk with his fork. “What did she say to him?”

“It was about that makeup he’s been wearing. I don’t think it was a big deal. Just something about how he might be sending a message, but she didn’t scrutinize him for it or anything.”

“When was this?”

“I dunno, dude,” Niall shrugged. “Last week, maybe? That might not even have anything to do with it.”

Louis wondered why Harry never said anything to him about what happened. Even before last week, when they had suddenly taken their friendship a step further, they had a tell-each-other-everything kind of bond. They were the person each other could go to for every fear, every complaint, just to have that listening ear. Maybe he had to remind Harry that, no matter what, Louis was always going to be that person for him. As long as he needed him for.

When they pulled up to the hotel, Louis didn’t bother getting his room right away. There was always some sort of confusion at the front desk and a race to collect bags and squish into the elevator to get to their floor. Technically, the band got priority, but seven people were a lot to wrangle and no one was ever where they said they would be. Letting Shep come find him in half an hour with a room key was much easier.

So instead, hoping to get a little air, Louis stepped out of the bus with everyone else and walked around back. The buses always parked in a locked up parking lot, sometimes underground, but other times it was closed off with a fence and security. This one had a fence, but it was right in the sun’s target range. He brought his cigarettes out with him, holding an unlit one between his lips before he found a place to sit. Hopefully there was a curb around here somewhere that had a little shade.

And there was, right behind the bumper of Smudge’s bus, currently being occupied by Harry.

“Do you mind some company?” Louis asked, approaching him in slow strides. 

Harry looked like he couldn’t have woken up too long ago, either—his curls loose and sticking up around his ears, his eyes still a little puffy. While he was still wearing his pajama pants, he hadn’t bothered putting a shirt on to leave the bus. Louis definitely noticed the way he was hugging his knees, putting his upper arms in full display.

Harry patted the seat next to him. “In need of a little wake and bake?” he asked.

Louis wasn’t sure if he was joking or not until he saw how thin the cigarette Harry was holding really was. He decided that was a wonderful idea and slid his cigarette back into the pack as he took a seat on the concrete, cold from being in the building’s shadow.

He took the joint from Harry, who was blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Did you think we were supposed to play San Diego tonight, or am I just totally out of the loop?” Harry wondered.

“I barely know what state we’re in when I wake up in the morning,” Louis said, though he did remember they were in Phoenix today. The sweat was a constant reminder.

“I don’t know how any of the guys keep track. I swear, my brain works for about two hours a day and all of that power goes into the show.”

With the joint hanging out of his mouth, Louis said, “It’s all that grass killin’ your brain cells,” while putting a twang on his voice like an old man from the south. 

Harry laughed, messing up the hair on Louis’ head just to bug him. Louis swatted his hand away trying to fix the strands so they fell normally around his face. His hair still had the faint remnants of the pink dye from the other week, but it was mostly black to his bleached blonde colour.

As they sat there, Louis watched the rest of the Smudge crew file out of their tour bus, bags slung over shoulders. Sweat began to prickle around his forehead and he wondered if he should recruit some pals on the hunt for a pool. Surely the hotel would have one inside. Even in the shade, the heat was intense. Louis pushed the sleeves up higher on his shirt. Maybe Harry had the right idea, going sans shirt altogether.

He considered asking Harry about his conversation with Lori. If it went down how Louis imagined, she seemed to have a problem with Harry putting glitter on his face, which didn’t make sense to Louis. It was stage getup, like a costume. Just part of the show. Although, thinking back to the last two nights, he realized Harry really hadn’t been wearing the glitter at all anymore.

But when he looked at Harry right now, he was smiling. A small, coy smile that grew when he turned to Louis, realizing he was being stared at. Louis would hate to ever be the reason that smile went away.

So he didn’t ask about it.

“Do you think Bart Simpson has spiky hair or a spiky head?”

Harry tilted his head back in confusion. “What?”

“Niall and Liam were arguing about it this morning and now I’m wondering if it _is_ his head. Why would he be entirely yellow?”

“Why would his head be made of spikes?”

Louis squinted an eye in thought. That quite obvious statement was a good point. A lot of those characters may have had oddly shaped heads, but they were all round in some way.

“What about Maggie?” Harry continued, taking this more seriously than Louis expected. “She wears a bow in her hair. You’re telling me her parents clipped that to her skull?”

“Alright,” Louis put up his hands, “you’ve convinced me.”

Harry finished off the last of the joint, then squished it in the empty spot next to him on the cement block, scraping a black stroke of ash across it. Louis watched him do it, his mind now a little airy. He always liked that incoming feeling when his eyes got a little heavy. It was like that moment just after a morning stretch when your muscles feel like goo.

“Where did you find that shirt?” Harry wondered.

Louis looked down, almost forgetting that he still had Smudge merch on. “The floor of the tour bus,” he said. “The sweat stench isn’t too bad, surprisingly.”

“That’s good to hear since it’s my shirt.”

“Is it?”

Harry lifted Louis’ arm in the air, who let him do it surprisingly easily. He felt Harry’s finger poke through the hole in the armpit and tickle his underarm. Louis snapped his arm back down and winced away. He didn’t bother trying to hide the giggle that came with it.

“Yep. My shirt,” Harry said, looking oddly pleased with himself.

“How’d it end up on the floor of _our_ bus, then?”

“Niall steals everyone’s clothes. I don’t think he even realizes when he does it. He just puts on whatever is closest to him when he wakes up in the morning.”

“That bastard,” Louis said with the corner of his mouth turned up, well aware that was exactly what he did this morning.

“One of your shirts ended up on the Smudge bus, actually. I saw it this morning. That Nike one I always see you wearing.”

With a description that vague, Louis had no idea what Harry was talking about. He owned many Nike shirts, none of which he could say with certainty were somewhere in or around his belongings. Honestly, some of his clothes ending up on the Smudge bus wouldn’t be the least bit surprising.

“Come ‘ere. I’ll grab it for you.”

Louis didn’t really care that his shirt was on their bus. He could get it later, or not at all if he ended up forgetting. But Harry was already standing to lead the way, so Louis jumped up and followed.

Harry held the door open while Louis hopped up the steps, then closed it behind them. The bus was off, so there was no air conditioning at all. These tin cans tended to heat up quite quickly. The bus was nearly identical to Fearless Doe’s: two big couches, one small table, a line of countertop next to a fridge that they called the kitchen, and a curtain that could maybe be considered a door to divide the bunks. Louis kept walking, then stopped at the counter to let Harry go first.

“Anyone in here?” Harry called out. 

He paused briefly for an answer.

No response.

Harry immediately turned to Louis and pressed him against the counter, giving him a moment to reject him before their lips met. There was an urgency to the way he pulled Louis in, an arm wrapped entirely around his waist, but Louis could feel the lightness in his touch. The freedom to pull away if Harry had read the signs all wrong. 

But he didn’t, and Louis was quickly reminded of Harry’s familiar taste as his tongue made his way between his lips. His hands found Harry’s waist, searching for the best place to hold him. His bare skin was warm, smooth and almost slick. The thought crossed his mind that Harry would probably be one of those people who slept like a human furnace. A second thought wondered if he’d ever find out if that was true.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this again,” Harry said as he took a breath.

Without Harry’s lips, Louis moved instead to the corner of his mouth, then towards his jawline. Rough, eager kisses. His tongue poking out just enough to taste his skin.

“Then why have you spent all this time teasing me?” Louis asked, switching sides and deciding to go for his neck instead. “What were you waiting for?”

“The nerve,” Harry said with a desperate hitch of his breath as Louis gently sucked his skin between his teeth.

Lifting his head to look at him, Louis said, “I never would’ve kissed you if I didn’t want to do it again.”

And so he did it again, quickly so he could pull Harry’s bottom lip with him. Harry smiled teasingly, their eyes so close he could barely focus on Louis’ face.

This time, Harry kissed him harder, and Louis could feel the counter digging into his lower back. Giving himself a bit of an upper hand, he shuffled Harry backwards until he was pressed into the fridge, taking a sharp breath through his nose. A wave of pleasure rippled through him. 

This felt fast, but Louis wanted fast. He wanted messy and spontaneous. That’s the way he had been building it up in his head during the many nights he lay awake since that kiss. Sometimes, when all he could open his eyes to was darkness, he imagined the curtain to his bunk opening and Harry crawling in. He’d get under the blankets and they’d wrap their arms around each other. A soft peck. Then one that lasted just a few moments longer. Then his tongue would slip between Harry’s lips, and the tone would switch. Hands would roam, clothes would shed. They’d try to be as quiet as possible, and while Louis would never dare having sex with so many listening ears around, this was a fantasy. One that he was fine with living in his mind. Until now, as they found themselves in an empty bus with racing hearts and bad intentions.

Well, actually, the intentions felt pretty good. 

Harry’s hands lowered to Louis’ ass, grinding their hips together. With one hand on Harry’s jaw, Louis let the other travel down his chest, feeling every muscle in his stomach until he reached the waistband of his pants. It didn’t take long to discover Harry was not wearing underwear. 

Resting their foreheads together, Louis could feel Harry’s short, hot breath against his mouth. As Louis freed him from the fabric, Harry’s mouth fell open, but Louis kissed it closed again. He wanted to feel Harry tremble against him, just at his touch. His slow, strong, skillful touch.

“Christ, Louis” Harry mumbled, his eyes closed in bliss. The soft moan he let out sent a shiver down Louis’ spine. He didn’t expect his hand to be able to get Harry so hot so quickly.

Slowing his motion, Louis let his lips brush against Harry’s ear. He could feel the goosebumps along Harry’s neck. “Do you want me to blow you?” he asked directly.

“Yes,” was Harry’s breathless plea.

But when Louis pressed his lips hard against Harry’s again, ready to begin his trail down his neck, between the muscles on his chest and abdomen until his mouth reached its destination, something dropped with a thump from the other side of the curtain.

“Fuck!” came a distinctly female voice.

Louis let him go as Harry scrambled to tuck himself away. Their hearts raced in wide-eyed panic. As Louis backed away, feeling the mess Harry had left his hair in, he listened closely for a second noise. A voice, a stomping foot, a drawer closing—anything to indicate their panic was warranted.

“Did it come from outside the window?” Harry asked, still breathing heavily. His hand was placed over his crotch.

That was when the curtain burst open, a surprised and dishevelled Q on the other side. Her hands were filled with her unzipped duffle bag, a paperback copy of _Mansfield Park_ by Jane Austen cradled in one arm, and her CD Walkman in the other, attached to the headphones that were wrapped around her neck. The sound of something by The Slits was still blasting from the tiny speakers.

“Hello,” Q said pointedly, taken aback by their presence. She turned her head from side to side to look at their guilty faces, her eyebrows creased together. “Did I grow an extra head?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked sharply.

Louis shot him a wide-eyed glare. Did he know the meaning of the word ‘inconspicuous’?

“Packing my bag so I can go sleep in a real bed. What are you doing here, weirdo?” she replied, squeezing her way between them so she could get by. Harry turned his hips away alarmingly fast.

“I left my shirt here,” Louis said, then smoothly corrected it to, “Actually, I think Niall left my shirt here.”

“You should give it to Harry. He seems to be missing his.”

She didn’t appear to be insinuating anything by that, so Harry forced out a laugh.

“You guys coming to the pool with everyone?” Q wondered as she reached the front of the bus. Louis stepped forward to help her with the door, but she got it open with surprising ease.

“Yeah, maybe,” Louis said. The idea sounded nice, but his cheeks were still flushed with a desperate feeling he was trying to push away.

“Cool,” she said nonchalantly, followed by a distant “See ya,” as she disappeared outside.

Once Q was gone, Louis took a quick peek around the corner to the rest of the bunks. All of the curtains were open and looked to be totally empty. With a relieving sigh, he let his head collapse against the cupboard behind him.

“That scared the shit out of me,” he said.

“You don’t think she heard anything, did you?” Harry asked, hoping for reassurance more than anything.

“Did you hear how loud her headphones were? If that’s how she listens to music, she wouldn’t have heard anything even without them on.”

When Harry let out a laugh, Louis reached his hands out to take Harry’s. He laced their fingers together to pull Harry closer, but not as intimately this time.

“Stay in my room tonight,” he said.

Harry raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t look at all put off by the suggestion. “You sure?”

“Did my hand around your dick a second ago not make that obvious?”

Harry looked like he wanted to laugh, but instead, he said, “I don’t do one night stands anymore.” It sounded like a warning, not a refusal.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s…” Louis had to think. Right now, it was two interrupted kisses, but that wasn’t what Harry was asking. He wanted to know what came next. When you kiss someone you’ve been flirting with for a while, that’s expected. It’s just the next step to discovering how you feel. But when you sneak off with someone you’ve known for years and care for deeply and share a moment of intimacy, it means something. You don’t have to know what, but it does. 

“It’s something,” Louis said. “We have something.”

“Alright.” Harry curled his finger under Louis’ chin and kissed him once, a tender contrast from what they were doing just minutes ago. “I can work with something.”

### 2019

It was too chilly for the ducks to still be swimming in the pond, but that was where Penny and Harry sat, watching the gentle sway of the frigid water. They found one of those sectioned benches that the city put in so no one would sleep on them, which Penny always thought was ridiculous. People who didn’t own a bed still deserved a place to sleep. She sat on one end and Harry on the other, using the middle section as a table between them.

Harry appeared to be people watching as he spoke, his eyes following a jogger checking his watch, then a couple walking with their arms around each other, then a businesswoman taking her lunch break at a bench adjacent. Penny loved the fast pace of New York. Something always felt like it was happening. An excitement in the air that was surely lost on those who lived there. Penny was perfectly fine with having the tourist glow in her eyes.

Across the bench, she noticed Harry was shaking his knee ever so slightly. He hadn’t done that before. Penny adjusted her grip on her phone, then rested it on the wood plank between them, hoping to ease the pressure of the conversation.

“Was that when you and Louis began your romantic relationship?” she asked, now holding nothing between them except her cup of coffee. 

Harry let his head rock to the side when he looked at her. “I like how you worded that. It sounds so much more proper than it felt back then.”

“Why do you say that? Was it not a relationship?”

“It was… me and a person I had become wildly enamoured with spending a lot of time together for an extended period of time.”

“And what I said was more proper?”

He breathed a laugh. “It wasn’t a relationship. We never put a label on it, which sounds pretentious, but we just never talked about it. We became comfortable with each other quite quickly. For a few months, it was nice to just have someone. You wake up in new cities all the time, but it’s always next to the same person. At the end of the day, you have arms to fall into. I’m not sure I had ever cared so deeply about one person before him.”

“I know how that feels,” Penny said. “I married the first person who made me feel like that.”

“And she still does, right? Every time you wake up in the morning, you just feel so goddamn happy that you got it right so fast. You get to spend your whole lives together.”

“I’m very lucky, yes,” Penny nodded, propping up her elbow on the backrest and using her hand to hold up her cheek.

“Did you always know you were going to marry her?”

“When I was twenty, I didn’t think I’d ever marry anyone. Keep in mind, it was still illegal for me to marry the person I loved. But when you’re that young and you fall in love, I think you either want everything at once—marriage, kids, the whole shebang—or you want everything to stay as it is. You just want to live in this little slice of perfection you were able to carve out for yourselves forever. I wasn’t ready to commit, but if I ever pictured it, it was always her I was spending my life waking up next to.”

“You have a beautiful love story,” Harry said warmly.

Penny started shaking her head. “Sorry. We’re supposed to be talking about yours, not mine,” she said with a sheepish smile.

“Yours sounds a lot happier than where mine is headed.”

He said it jokingly, but Penny frowned. She let him continue.

“The thing about Louis was that I never knew if he was thinking those same things. I mean, we’d gone through a lot. He hated me for years, even though he tried not to be so harsh about it. But when he was angry with someone, he could never hide it. I don’t know if ‘deserving’ is the right word, but how we felt towards each other over the years always made sense. And then out of nowhere we just… fell into each other. Everything clicked so fast. The small things made me feel so happy and grateful. Waiting for each other to come off stage, eating breakfast across from each other, an afternoon nap with his head on my chest. We’d spend late nights and early mornings in bed, talking about our days and our histories and all the strange little things we still wanted out of life. And not so strange things, as well. There was something so safe about being with him.”

 _Safe_. 

When Penny thought about young love, the word ‘safe’ was never at the top of her list. A partner should make you feel safe, of course, but when you’re young and smitten and willing to be reckless with your heart—no labels, just company—safe doesn’t tend to be where you land.

Harry took a breath and Penny couldn’t tell if he was finished. She let him collect his thoughts. Sit with what he said. And with his memories, maybe. His expressions kept changing. A nostalgic smile, a regretful cringe, a thoughtful sigh. His eyes remained squinted when he spoke again. 

“It felt like love, but we hadn’t gotten there. I was twenty-four and I could imagine waking up next to him tomorrow, but I couldn’t imagine it in thirty years. Not then. But I didn’t want to stop the tomorrows. I didn’t know what to do with those feelings.”

Penny glanced at her notes, not actually reading any of the words, then up at him again. He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t thinking about who he was speaking to, just what he was saying.

“But _was_ it love?” she asked.

Harry's hands were folded together in his lap, his eyes straight ahead. A gentle wind brushed his cheeks, then he started to nod. “Yes,” he said. “Absolutely.”

### May, 1995

Every time he came off stage, Harry felt like he just had a bucket of water dumped on him. Actually, a bucket of water being dumped on him would feel quite nice right now. He’d also welcome a cold drink and bag of ice being poured down his back.

Everyone knew the Seattle crowd was going to go the hardest. It was their hometown show. Two nights at the KeyArena in front of thirty thousand people. Both dates were sold out. Harry expected it to be some of the most memorable shows he’d ever play.

And on night two, it would be, because Louis had an idea.

“I’m asking you first so you can be the first to say no if you don’t like it,” Louis said as they sat on the edge of the stage during soundcheck. Typically, the bands did a very brief, separate soundcheck before the doors opened each night. Tonight, Smudge was first. As Harry was hanging out with the rest of the band in Q and Bex’s dressing room, he got word that he was wanted on stage by Fearless Doe, which meant Louis.

“What are you asking me?”

“I think we should do a duet at the very end of the encore tonight.”

“A duet?” Harry dropped his knees to lean forward, looking at Louis curiously. He knew there was trouble brewing in that mind of his. “What song?”

“Getting Worse,” he said, but Harry already knew that was coming.

“Do you want to cause a shit storm?” Harry laughed. Four years ago, they were fighting through lawyers over ownership of the very track that made Smudge huge, and now Louis was suggesting they play it in front of nearly fifteen thousand people as a duet. “You do know there’s a reason we kept it off the setlist.”

“And I still think that was a bad move. It’s your biggest song.”

“That the band we’re touring with sued us for. Look, I know you and I don’t care about that anymore, but—”

“But what? The press will eat it up? Good! The fans will think it’s bold, the press will call it—I dunno—water under the bridge. It’ll be a spectacle. What better ‘fuck you’ to the gossip mills than to show them we don’t even care? That we never cared?”

“We definitely cared. _You_ cared more than anyone.”

Louis paused, biting his jaw closed. He dropped his arms, his gaze steady on Harry, who had his eyebrows raised in waiting.

“I never destroyed the demo,” Louis said.

Harry’s eyes widened, his head turned straight in front of him. Laughter escaped his throat, but he wasn’t actually laughing.

And now Louis was waiting.

“Why did you say you did? You would’ve won the case.”

“Because I didn’t want to win!” Louis exclaimed. “It could’ve ruined you. I just wanted you to know what happened. The settlement never mattered to me, either. I wanted to prove that I would fight for… I don’t know. Myself, I guess.” A strange sort of defeat tinged his voice when he said it. Like maybe it was a fight that wasn’t quite finished yet.

Harry had to think a moment longer, letting the wave of confusion pass. His feelings about that lawsuit weren’t ones he often revisited. “I’m not, like, mad or offended or anything. I’m just surprised. The person I thought you were wouldn’t have done that.”

“Am I not the person you thought I was?”

He turned back to Louis, tilting his head to rest on his fist. Harry lifted his arm so it could wrap it lazily around Louis’ shoulders. “Yes and no,” he decided. “You’re complex, Louis. And I think you like that about yourself. It’s not a bad thing to be.”

Harry liked it when his words became the cause of Louis’ smile, however short-lived.

“So, what about the song?” Louis asked, letting the moment fade. “Are we going to do it?”

Harry filled his lungs, circling back to the decision. Not only was Louis right, but he was kind of a genius. This was a spectacle. This was the kind of twist that got people talking in the right way. It had attitude, and it gave the audience exactly what they wanted: that song, and to see Fearless Doe and Smudge on stage together. Performing side-by-side for the first time ever. And it would be the track that started it all.

“You think we can pull it off?”

“Of course we can. We’re going to be on top of the fucking world tonight. I don’t think we could mess it up if we tried.”

Now _that_ was bold to suggest.

“Then let’s do it,” Harry agreed. “We need to fetch the rest of the band to run it through, then. If it’s going to be a spectacle, we’re doing this right.”

So that was what Harry was waiting on when he got back to his dressing room after Smudge’s set that night. He was going to rinse off in the shower, chug a bottle of water, then get back out there to watch the rest of the show before Smudge and Fearless Doe made their spectacle at the end of the night.

But when he walked through the door, a towel around his neck and his hair tied up high, Harry noticed a note taped to his mirror across the room. Completely alone, he snatched it off the mirror and leaned a hip against the counter in front of it.

_If you’re still up for it after the show, there’s somewhere I want to take you. Change quickly after the encore. I’ll meet you at the ramp doors. I promise only good times. – L_

At the knock on the door, Harry’s head shot up. “Come in,” he called out, folding the note in half and tucking it into his back pocket.

Q poked her head in. “Are you coming to watch the F.D. set?” she wondered. There were two sealed beer bottles in her hand that she held by the necks, condensation still building up on the outside.

“Yeah, in a minute,” he said, folding his arms and ankles together at the same time.

“Why do you look guilty?”

“What?” He glanced around the room. “How do I look guilty?”

Q walked in further, revealing she was actually holding four bottles, not two. She placed them all down the counter that lined the wall next to her. “Maybe guilty is the wrong word. You look flustered.”

“Why would I look flustered?”

“You tell me.”

He didn’t know why he hesitated. Q already knew. A lot of people on the tour knew or at least had a suspicion. It wasn’t spoken about, but that was because there was nothing more to say. And Harry didn’t care. The way things were right now made him happy. He wanted it to stay like this for a while.

But when things first started with Louis, when he knew there was something more to the friendship they had formed over the last year, Q was the first person Harry went to. Not out of concern for what would happen if they were to get together properly. Not because he was scared of his own feelings. He just wanted plain old dating advice from a person who had managed to stay in the same relationship for nearly eight years.

“I really like him,” he told her as they sat in the backstage cafeteria nearly three months ago, empty plates from lunch pushed to the side.

“So why are you avoiding him?”

“I’m not! I just don’t know how to proceed.”

“Okay,” Q shrugged. “Then just let it happen.”

“Does it work like that?”

Q sighed in exasperation, but that was just her act. She was happy to help and even happier for him. “It does if you stop avoiding him. Spend time together. Appreciate each other. Tell him how you feel. This doesn’t have to be complicated. You know how Bex and I met. We sat together in English in senior year and I talked to her every single day. Then we started going to the movies on weekends. One time, when I was dropping her off at home after we saw _The Lost Boys_ , she kissed me. And it was wonderful. The next weekend, we went to the movies again, but this time, she asked if we could call it a date.” 

She moved her can of soda out of the way so she could lean in closer to speak, making sure Harry heard every word.

“You don’t know what to do? Don’t do anything different. You just have to go with it. Do what feels right in the moment. And, for the love of god, do not overthink this. That’ll be your first mistake.”

Harry overthought every moment. He couldn’t help it. 

But then, eventually, he stopped. For a while, anyway. Because everything started becoming clearer. Because all that mattered was that he got to spend every day with someone who made him happy. What he felt for Louis was never reckless. Right now, it was… freeing. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t intense. It was just good.

“I think Louis and I are going out tonight,” Harry said as he still stood in front of that mirror. He dug the note back out of his pocket. “I don’t know where. He left me this.”

Q nodded approvingly. “Spontaneity, I like it,” she said, picking three of the bottles back up. The last was for Harry, but if she waited for him to join them, it would just get warm.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry said, reading over the note again. He loved the endearing messiness of Louis’ handwriting. 

Q pulled the door handle and kicked it open further with her leg. “Have fun,” she called out as she disappeared through the door.

Harry wandered back to the stage around halfway through Fearless Doe’s set. Just in time to see the tribute. He loved watching the stadiums and arenas glow with lighters every night for that song. No stage lights except the one dim spotlight on Louis. The rest of the room was everyone else’s light. Thousands upon thousands. Bright, flickering in the air. Always a sight to behold.

When it came time for the encore, the band ran backstage to change as the crowd let out their screams and cheers. Fearless Doe still had two more songs, then Smudge was going to make their grand reappearance.

But as Louis rushed past Harry, he slowed down, grabbed his hand, and dropped something in it. “Put that on before we sing,” Louis said, pointing right at him as he jogged back up the stairs.

Harry opened his palm. It was a tube of glitter, but this time in a paste of its own so it would stick better. It was gold this time, not blue like the one Harry had been using from Q’s makeup kit. He didn’t know why he stopped using it. Well, he did, but his reasoning with himself never sat right. His confidence had disappeared after one too many comments on its oddity. It started to feel wrong. But what could one song hurt?

He slathered a thin finger scoop on each cheek, then got ready at side-stage to run out for the song.

The screams were deafening.

Something in the murmurs among the cheering told Harry they knew what was coming. He looked at the wide-eyed faces up front, jumping with their arms in the air. With a little grin, he waved at them, and they screamed louder, waving wildly in return.

“Why, hello again, Seattle!” Harry said into his mic to another chorus of screams. “Have our friends, here, been treating you well?”

Cheering again.

“Good, good. They never do disappoint, do they? Give it up for the marvellous Fearless Doe!”

Louis always had the same expression when listening to praise. Tight-lipped smile. Eyes nearly squinting shut. Turning away modestly, as if distracted by something else.

“Aw, don’t flatter me, Harry. Red isn’t my colour,” he teased, pretending to adjust the knobs on his bass without turning anything. “Listen, we have one more song we want to play, but I think it would be rude to go forward without your permission, considering it’s your song.”

The crowd definitely knew where this was headed now.

“Well,” Harry looked at his bandmates, as if searching for approval, “I think we can allow that. But on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You let us sing with you.”

“All of us? Together?”

“If you’d have us.”

Everyone went nuts, and they hadn’t even named the song yet.

Louis nodded, wrapping up their cheesy act. “We’re always happy to share the stage with our friends.”

Zayn played the opening riff and the room just about lost their minds.

Smudge always got a huge reaction when they played “Getting Worse.” It was their biggest song and an obvious fan favourite, even after the controversy. But this was like no reaction they’d ever heard before. The words being screamed back to them so loud they could barely sing over it. When it came to the chorus, they didn’t even try. This was the crowd’s song now. The two bands had reclaimed it as their own, together, and then set it free.

To take their bows amongst the applause, the seven of them formed a line with their arms around each other and dipped their heads. Leaving their heartfelt thanks on the stage, they ran off, hearing the cheers fade behind them. 

Harry ran right to his dressing room and yanked off his black tank top for something warmer. It was a little chilly at night, so he found a plain shirt and the baggy button-up he had worn to the arena to pull over his arms. Taking a quick glance in the mirror, he decided to tuck the shirt into his pants. He looked closely again. Was that too much? Shit, and he still had that glitter on his face. Shuffling through everything on the counter, the only thing close to a wipe he could find were some tissues. He didn’t have time for this, so he said fuck it. He’d go out with glitter on his face tonight. Grabbing his wallet off the counter, he pulled his shirt back out of his waistband and headed out the door.

Louis was waiting by the ramp just like he said he would. But what surprised Harry was that he was waiting in the driver’s seat of his own car. When Harry got in, Louis immediately noticed the choice to leave his face as-is. He brushed a gentle thumb along Harry’s cheekbone, smiling brightly, then dropped his hand so he could put the car back into drive.

“We killed it,” Louis said as he turned onto the main road, speeding away from the city.

“That was unreal,” Harry agreed. He was still feeling the post-show high. It would run through him like a triple shot of espresso for the next couple of hours. “Thanks for suggesting that. I’m so glad we did it.”

“Me too,” Louis said. “But, come on, you guys stole the show.” He nudged him.

Harry didn’t want to accept the compliment, but if he returned it, they’d be going back and forth forever.

“And then you stole me to take me… where?”

When Louis looked at him, there was a little twinkle in his eye, then he turned to the road again. “You remember The Tin Ark?” 

A piece of Harry’s memory that he didn’t often go back to suddenly unlocked. “That old warehouse venue? I went there like once a month when I was a teenager. They didn’t ID you unless you tried to order a drink, so we could always get in.”

“Yeah, that was one of its perks,” Louis laughed.

“There were some great bands that played there, man. Bands I’ve never heard of again.”

That was always the point. No one got famous after playing at The Tin Ark. You could have local fame because you played there, but that was where it ended. The venue wasn’t for bands who wanted money and success. They were bands who wanted to jam and party and scream a song from their soul. Punk rock lived there.

“You want to go back?”

Harry looked at him. “Is that where we're going?”

“Unless you want me to turn around. I thought it would be cool to return to a place we both remember but never experienced together. It’ll be like a weird nostalgia trip.”

“When’s the last time you’ve been there?” Harry wondered.

“Probably when I was twenty, somewhere around there.”

“I was eighteen,” Harry said. “Right before we got big. Those were some of the best shows I’ve ever been to. Such wild energy in a tiny space. It’s like every person in that room is your best friend.”

“So you want to go?” Louis asked again.

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed. “Hundred percent, yes.”

The Tin Ark was outside the Seattle limits, about a half-hour drive from the arena. It sat on some old farmland and got taken over sometime in the early seventies. Harry was used to being squished into the backseat with a bunch of his friends during this drive, someone’s flask between his knees. Back when seatbelts were still widely seen as optional. 

It was nearing eleven when they got there, the music already blaring and lights flashing through the few slatted windows. The parking lot wasn’t so much a lot as it was a big field that cars gathered in. A few people were out there, smoking around hoods and getting a breather from the crowd. It turned out they started asking for ID at the door, but the guy standing there took one look at Harry and Louis and let them right in.

“I’ll keep quiet,” he said without being asked.

Since they were showing up late, unexpectedly, and when the lights were already out, being recognized wasn’t that much of a concern. Even if someone did spot them, they were just there to have fun like everyone else.

The bands that played here were much heavier than the stuff Smudge and Fearless Doe put out. These people were hard punk and edging towards metal. Not that Harry or Louis would call themselves metalheads now, but this was the stuff they grew up with. The late eighties thrived on headbanging and mosh pits.

And that was exactly where they found themselves. Even though they entered at the back of the room, it was so easy to slowly migrate forward. Not all the way to the front because that was when you’d get accused of pushing your way there. They just moved with the flow of the crowd.

The band was called something like Ant Panic—largely forgettable. The kind of band that was full of kids that didn’t know how to play their instruments, but they knew how to turn their amps loud and rile up a room full of sweaty bodies packed together, becoming deafening in the best way. 

Big or small, concert crowds had to become a community for the night. Work together, sing together, party together. You take care of each other and kick out the assholes who can’t learn boundaries. You make new friends and hope you see them again at another show.

Harry realized that it had been years since he’d been in a crowd like this. He’d been to concerts, but always backstage or in the stands. Usually as someone’s guest. But here, he was just _here_. They showed up, paid the doorman, and tried their best to blend in. Once Harry let himself become immersed, music pulsating through him that felt different when he wasn’t the one everyone was watching, it worked.

He remembered what it felt like to be sixteen again. He put himself back behind those eyes, watching on with innocence and apathy. When you feel like you know the world but you’re not quite ready for it. When you want to experience as much as possible and have as much fun as possible. That was the goal. That was how you discovered who you were—searching for what made you happy. 

It started with the shallow things, like sneaking out late at night just to get a slushy from the 24-hour convenience store with your best friend. But it was never about the thrill of sneaking out or a simple craving. It was about that conversation you’d have on the walk home, stopping on a park bench to talk about anything. The last movie you saw. The fight you just had with your parents. A failing grade. The deep and the trivial. 

And those friends, they were the ones who tested you. Your friends either reflected who you were or who you thought you wanted to be, especially when you were still unsure what any of that meant. Then luck would either stick you with that person who you bonded over slushies with for the long run, or it would send you someone else who you could talk forever with. Maybe many someones, each with something harsh or beautiful to offer. Maybe both.

The nostalgia of being a teenager always came with butterflies. The memory of the warm sun on your face every time you rolled the windows down. Laughs in strange places and memories you don’t tell your parents until you have kids of your own. Or maybe it was none of those things, but that’s how you remember it. Moments in slow motion, straight off a movie reel. A silent montage of distorted truth.

“These guys are sick,” were the simple words coming from Louis’ mouth that pulled Harry from his teenage fantasy. Louis was standing partly in front of him, his shoulder rested against Harry’s chest.

“What? They suck?” Harry yelled over the music.

“I said they're sick!” Louis yelled back.

Two shows in one night—Harry knew their voices would be gone tomorrow. It was a good thing they had two days off before the last week stretch. And then a summer of festivals. Now _those_ were gigs that put you on top of the world.

The pit was starting to get a little hostile in the middle. Harry watched as someone far ahead and out of reach shove the person next to him for going a little too hard. The guy shoved back, but a girl behind them was quick to get in between and break it up. The sway of the shove rippled backwards, and everyone fell into the people around them a little harder than they should have. The person in front of Louis accidentally elbowed him in the stomach—not hard—and Harry steadied his balance as Louis stepped on his toes.

“Shit, sorry!” the guy in front of Louis said as he turned to look over his shoulder. The apology sounded sincere, but then he did a double-take. “Oh shit, you’re Louis Tomlinson!”

“Who?” Louis said without missing a beat.

“And you’re Harry Styles!” the guy continued. He looked like a kid, maybe eighteen at the most. Cobain hair to prove it. “I saw you guys last night, dudes. It was sick! Best show of my life. I’m gonna remember it forever.”

“Been drinking?” Harry asked in innocent amusement.

“I’m fucking hammered!” the guy cheered.

Harry and Louis looked at each other to laugh, then the guy zoned himself back into the show, suddenly unconcerned with who he just spotted. No one around them seemed to notice the same way he did, but surely their presence wasn’t completely unknown around the room. Soon enough, a whisper of gossip would spread through the crowd. It didn’t really matter, but they weren’t in the mood for a post-show meet-and-greet. Especially when it wasn’t their show.

“Want to duck out early?” Harry asked.

“Before the encore? Concert blasphemy!” Louis said.

While that was true, Harry pointed out, “No one plays encores here. They play until they can barely stand up straight.”

That was also true. Louis followed him single-file to the back of the room, then they snuck out the side door.

The beautiful thing about The Tin Ark was that just behind it was a hill. A tall grassy hill that’s peak was nearly taller than the roof of the building. When the night air hit them, Harry didn’t even say anything. He just gently pulled Louis by the wrist, then started running towards that hill. Taking long strides, he jogged to the top, Louis close behind. There was nothing at the top. No trees or bushes or rocks, just long, cold grass that made the perfect cushion. Harry collapsed down on his hands, then twisted his body until he was laying down. Legs stretched in front of him, elbows propping him up. Louis sat next to him with crossed legs. They were facing the warehouse, still able to see the flashing lights and muffled sounds of the show under the moonlight. Since they were far enough away from the city, the stars could sparkle above them.

“This reminds me of my Oregon house,” Louis said. “It’s the only place I go to that feels this content. I love to build a little bonfire in the backyard at night and sit out there like this. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. It’s really peaceful.”

“I’ve still never been there,” Harry pointed out. “Just your place in LA.”

“Not a lot of people have. I don’t invite anyone besides the band and my family, for the most part.”

“Why’s that?”

Louis shrugged happily. “It’s my place, you know? Just for me.”

Harry nodded, his eyes falling straight ahead again. Some girl had stumbled out of the building, a guy who appeared to be her boyfriend behind her. It looked like they were leaving to smoke up rather than something more risque. Most people just did that inside, but sometimes you needed a little air.

“When our break starts, you should come stay with me for a little while,” Louis suggested.

Harry’s ears pricked up, his head turning slowly. “Yeah?”

“I could use the company. It’s a lovely place, right on the water. No one around. Huge deck in the back.”

“That sounds really nice,” Harry said.

“So you’ll come?”

“What else did you say there is to do there?” He had a teasing smirk on his face.

Louis hummed, laying back on just one side so he was facing Harry. “Breakfast in bed every morning.”

Harry gasped dramatically. “How luxurious!”

“And evenings reading a book in front of the fireplace with a hot cup of tea.”

“I have been hoping to catch up on some reading.”

“Afternoons in the garden with the fresh scent of blooming flowers around you as you lay in the grass.”

Louis’ voice was getting low, calming yet enticing. His eyes flickering because he was looking at every part of Harry. From the details of his eyes and the curls around his cheeks, down his long legs. Harry hadn’t moved yet. He smiled, barely looking at Louis.

“And what will you be doing?” Harry wondered, his eyes searching for a constellation he couldn’t name anyway.

“Serving you breakfast. Making you tea. Cuddling next to you in front of the fire.”

“What about while I’m laying in the grass and smelling these fresh flowers?”

Louis paused only for a second, hoping to catch his gaze, but with no luck.

“I’ll be in the ocean,” he said. “Under the sunset, calling your name to join me.”

Harry imagined the glistening light over gentle ocean waves. Louis is standing waist-deep in the middle of it, framed by an archway of lush trees before the sandy beach. He’s just a silhouette, his hair pushed back from the water, his hands grazing over the surface and dipping in every so often. Harry stands from the towel on which he was sunbathing, placing his book face down on top of it. He walks at first, then starts jogging when he reaches the sand. The water is cold when his feet make their first splashes, but he gets used to it quickly. Louis isn’t walking closer to him. In fact, he’s getting deeper, letting Harry follow him. Harry gets impatient, but he can’t run. Instead, he dives under the surface, opening his eyes so he can see Louis’ distorted bare legs, his feet kicking rapidly behind him. 

When his face pops back up, eyes squinted shut, Louis is already facing him. Harry has to blink the water out of his eyes, but Louis helps him by pushing the stray hairs from his forehead. Both of their natural hair colours have gotten brighter over the last few weeks from spending their days outdoors. Instead of his bleached colour, Louis’ is a smooth light brown. The sunset is glowing behind him, pouring over his shoulders and outlining his curved figure. Harry thinks it looks like a halo, but he already sees that when he looks at Louis every day. 

Louis’ hands fall to Harry’s upper arms, then brush down to his elbows. Harry rests their foreheads together, his arms wrapping around Louis' waist.

“You looked so beautiful from the beach. I almost wanted to stay there just to admire you,” Harry says.

Louis laughs so his lips tuck close to his teeth, his eyes crinkling. “I love you,” he tells Harry. Because he’s been telling him every day.

But this, of course, was just Harry’s fantasy.

On the hill under the moonlight, Harry said, “I guess I’ll need to pack a swimsuit.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

That was when Louis finally caught Harry’s eye. A laugh that fell into a lingering smile. One that was inviting Louis closer, so he started to lean in. It looked as though Harry was doing the same, his eyes falling closed until he was the one falling. Rolling, actually. A purposeful twist in the opposite direction. Louis turned over his shoulder, watching Harry roll down the hill with his arms stretched above his head, picking up speed as he got near the bottom. The patchy grass was cold against his skin but soft enough to somehow feel comfortable as the world spun around him. Harry squeezed his eyes tight, enjoying the feeling of hardly knowing which way was up and which was down. 

At first, Louis was alarmed, but then he dropped his back to the ground and started rolling with him, his arms tucked into his chest so he wouldn’t get a face full of grass. He just let himself go. A giggle first left his throat, but it quickly increased to hysterical laughter. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he rolled down a hill. Not since he was a child, surely.

Harry was giggling too when he reached the bottom. He didn’t stand up, instead lying there on his stomach, his shirt having ridden up to his chest. He could hear Louis behind him, his laughter like a little kid. He felt Louis crash into his side, his leg flying over Harry’s torso. They were both caught in a fit of laughter again. When Harry looked up, he could see pieces of grass sticking out every which way from Louis’ hair. He was breathing heavily from the short burst of adrenaline. 

Harry wrapped his hand around the back of Louis’ neck, pulling him in so their lips could meet. It was short and innocent, like your first peck when you’re thirteen, sneaking around with the kid who lives next door. The kind of kiss you always remember because, at the time, you were sure it would never happen again.

When they walked back to the car, Louis asked Harry if he’d like to come over instead of going home. Harry said yes without hesitation, but he wasn’t sure where Louis’ place in the city was. Once they got driving, he started to recognize the neighbourhood they were in a bit better. Harry realized Louis was taking him home. His childhood home.

“We have to be quiet. My mom will be asleep by now,” Louis said as he pulled the key from the ignition, recognizing his mom’s car which he had parked behind. She had come to the show tonight, just like the one last night, but always insisted on driving herself no matter how many times Louis offered to send a car to bring her.

They walked up the steps and across the front porch, and Harry realized it looked just like the house he grew up in. Same wooden siding, same screen door. All the lights were off inside, so Louis didn’t bother turning any on. Once they kicked off their shoes, he took Harry’s hand and led him to his teenage bedroom.

Harry instantly loved the quaintness of it. The way memories he never lived practically slapped him in the face when he walked in, his eyes glancing over the posters covering the red-painted walls. This was the room of a teenager not fully recovered from childhood. The lingering ghosts still floated over every surface, through an empty ant farm that sat on his bookshelf next to a pile of Spiderman comics, and twisting around the telescope that sat on his desk, the eyepiece having broken off. The desk didn’t seem to be getting much use otherwise, except for holding up the TV with a built-in VCR.

When Louis shut the door behind him, Harry let himself browse, the room illuminated by the dim ceiling light since one of the bulbs was burnt out. A stereo sat on top of Louis’ dresser, next to a box full of tapes that were neatly organized. Harry had a feeling that a certain mother had something to do with the cleanliness in here. Even the carpet looked freshly vacuumed. 

Harry tilted his head up, his eyes scanning the posters with more attention. Above the bed was a giant poster for The Cure, collaged against The Sex Pistols’ logo, a photocard of David Bowie, and the album cover for _Horses_ by Patti Smith. At some point, Louis must’ve been a Star Wars fan because the poster for _The Empire Strikes Back_ was hanging on the back of the door. It was funny because Harry was pretty sure he’d never heard Louis say a word about the movies.

A bright blue electric guitar sat in the company of a small amp and a bean bag chair in the far corner of the room, in between the desk and the closet. Next to it was also a wicker chair that Harry could imagine spent the majority of the eighties covered in dirty laundry. He wondered how many late nights Louis had spent sitting in that corner, writing the songs that would make all of his dreams come true.

“You’ve changed so much since you lived in this room,” Harry said. He never knew Louis in high school, even though they had gone together, but through this room, he could just tell.

“I’d hope so,” Louis replied. He was sitting on his single bed, a knee tucked under himself on the brown quilt. “It’s been eight years since I lived here.”

“Does it feel that long?”

“Outside of this room, it feels like a lifetime. When I walk in here, it feels like I still need to wake up for school tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t believe your mom kept your room like this after all these years. I think my teenage bedroom is an office in my parents’ house, now.”

Harry’s story, of course, was a little different. He hadn’t lived at home since he was seventeen years old. His parents didn’t even show up to his own graduation. He was sure it had been an office for _many_ years.

“You said they made it to the show last night,” Louis mentioned. “Were you glad they decided to come?”

Harry didn’t bother introducing his parents to Louis. They had only spoken while Fearless Doe was on stage, anyway. It was a nice conversation, but brief before they went back to their seats. Smudge was closing the show that night.

“I was,” Harry sighed, taking a seat next to Louis. “I’m glad they’re trying.”

A little over a year ago, Harry had gotten an apology from his parents. Not one that was overly heartfelt or deep, but it meant something to him. That was followed by a couple of dinners together, along with his sister, but that was where the relationship stilled. They weren’t his parents in the way he needed them to be, but they wanted to be there. It was clear that they cared about _him_ , not what he had built for himself since they abandoned him. That, he could respect. So if they were willing to work, he was too. But so far, it was a slow uphill climb.

“I do love this room,” Harry said, changing the subject. “I had this same clock radio.” He patted the top of it like he would the snooze button in the morning.

“I still stay in here when I visit,” Louis admitted. “It tricks me into having good high school memories.”

“Is this where you want us to sleep tonight?” Harry gestured to the head of the bed that had two pillows, at least, but they were stacked on top of each other since they couldn’t reach wide enough across.

“The couch is also available.”

Harry thought it over a moment, then started to undo his jeans. Louis watched as he pulled them from his legs and left them crumpled on the floor. Harry then bent over to separate the pillows from the stack and pull the blankets back.

“Aren’t you joining me?”

“If you promise not to be a blanket hog.”

Harry was a notorious blanket hog. They had a playful fight over it nearly every night, which usually resulted in a cuddle. Tonight, Harry’s jaw dropping in offence was nothing Louis wasn’t used to.

Harry scooted over, then held open the blanket. “Get over here,” he said before Louis even had the chance to remove his own jeans. But he did, then he turned off the light and snuggled next to Harry’s warmth. 

With their faces so close, Louis didn’t even pretend he had any intention other than kissing Harry. Well, he had other intentions, but they started with a kiss. First on his nose, just to make him smile, then to his lips. As it intensified, Louis hoped that this bed hadn’t gotten squeakier over the years. Keeping quiet was still very much a concern.

Later, when Louis’ bare chest was pressed against Harry’s smooth back, his arm wrapped securely around him, he said, “That was the first time this bed has seen any action.”

He meant it as a joke, but he wasn’t expecting the snort he heard from Harry, followed by even more laughter.

“Okay, well, I wasn’t a loser in high school,” Louis defended. “I got plenty of action later.” He was already regretting the words before they came out.

Harry turned to his other side so they were face-to-face, his arm finding Louis’ waist. “You’re so good at pillow talk, babe,” he said sarcastically.

Louis lifted an eyebrow, even though Harry could barely tell in the dark. “ _Babe_? You haven’t called me that before.”

“You don’t want me to call you that?”

“I don’t know.” Louis’ own arm was sitting at Harry's waist, as well. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Think about it, then,” Harry said. “I have a few other options.”

“Like what?”

Harry had been considering this for a while. He always liked the classics. “Honey. Sweetie. Darling. My love.”

Harry heard the hitch in Louis’ breath. He didn’t like the sound. 

It was quiet for a beat. Harry didn’t know why he said that. He should’ve known better than to use the ‘L’ word, even if the implication was subtle. This wasn’t saying “I love you,” but he already knew Louis wouldn’t say it back. Not because he didn’t feel it. Not because he never would. But because now was not the time for love. That was something they had decided without ever having to say the words.

“Let’s see what happens naturally,” Louis said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a finality to his tone, and in the way he snuggled his head deep into his pillow. Harry could tell he had already closed his eyes.

“Goodnight,” Harry said.

Louis’ hand trailed up his back, finding the nape of Harry’s neck so he could pull his head in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“Goodnight, my love,” Louis said.

### 2019

The studio in Louis’ basement looked like a grand display of technology. The walls were painted a green so dark it was almost black, a light wooden trim in a criss-cross pattern along every crease and corner. Acoustic sound cushions lined the walls and ceilings, placed in perfect symmetry. On one wall was a proud display of gold and platinum disks, plaques, and awards from over the years. The mixing board stretched long across the wall below the window, and Penny hadn’t even seen the booth on the other side, yet. Next to it was quite possibly the biggest Mac computer screen she had ever seen. Louis was sitting on a swivel chair in front of it. 

When they first came down here, Louis wanted to show her some of the tracks he had been working on alone with no intent to release any new music. He was playing with new sounds. Mastering the piano, an instrument he didn’t pick up until he was in his thirties, well after Fearless Doe had disbanded. This wasn’t for the world, but he was still eager to show those who were willing to sit with him and listen.

“It’s so beautiful,” Penny said, sitting in another swivel chair opposite him. “I would’ve thought you’d been playing your whole life. I’ve played since I was six, and I don’t think I could do that.”

“An early retirement does wonders for a curious mind,” Louis said, turning the track down instead of pausing it. Since the noise in the room was so controlled, silence was almost eerie.

“You’re not really retired, though,” Penny said. “You have your own label.”

Louis nodded. “That is true, but I have plenty of employees. I help scout and mentor, but I don’t do much on the business end. I put money into it and give these talented kids a shot at getting their music out there.”

“That sounds really rewarding.”

He smiled big. “Oh, absolutely.”

“Have you ever considered putting out some solo work? You released a four-song EP twenty years ago, but nothing since.”

“I have considered it,” he said slowly. “It just never felt right. I think I said what I needed to say the first time around. It’s amazing to see what everyone else has done, though. On both sides of things. I mean, Niall and Liam went off to form Handsfree, which made some great contributions to rock in the early aughts. You have Zayn, who's one of the biggest producers in the game right now. Bex and Q have barely taken a break since they’ve become this iconic queer pop duo.”

“And Harry, I mean, Broadway. That surprised some people,” Penny cut in.

Louis tilted his head from side to side, chewing on his lip as he clasped his hands together. “Harry has always known what he was doing. Right from the beginning of his career, he knew what he had to offer and what the right move was. After Smudge, he knew he was going to release a solo album, and that the right thing to do was stray from alternative punk to pop-rock. When he tried film, that fantastic public reaction didn’t surprise me. When I found out he wanted to do Broadway, I was thrilled for him. He’s brilliant. As he changed, his audience changed with him. He just has that magnetism about him. An undeniable charm.”

“I’d say you were the same way in Fearless Doe. You had a beautiful intensity about you that took hold of the entire room. Just like everyone wanted to sing with you, they wanted to laugh and cry with you, too. Watching your career unfold with such precision, I mean, it was obvious you knew you weren’t missing any targets.”

“Well, thank you,” Louis said with a modest bow of his head.

Ever so briefly, Penny’s eyes scanned the room. With its pristine lighting and alluring features, she couldn’t help it. Along the wall behind them was a row of the most beautiful guitars she’d ever seen. Rich mahogany acoustics, a baby blue electric with a body sharp like a lightning bolt, and a cherry red Gibson 355 from 1960 that she recognized only because she could recall a photo of Harry playing one just like it on stage in early two-thousands. A quick Google search for the price one time had astonished her.

“The way you just described Harry, would you say you first noticed that when you saw him perform every night on tour?”

“Harry is innately one of the best performers alive right now,” Louis said. “But I think you’re asking me something else.”

Penny smiled. There was no getting around Louis’ clever mind. “What was it that drew you to him?” she asked as plainly as she could.

“It had nothing to do with what I just told you,” Louis said, matter-of-factly. He let his hands fall flat on his thighs. “I can tell you all the simple things. How genuine he was. How he was kind to every single person he met, nearly to a fault. If you told him a story or something you found interesting, he always followed it up with a question. That’s how you could tell just how much he cared for the people around him. And when we talked, it was just—I can’t even describe it. We always laughed together. We always had something to talk about. Before anything else, he was my best friend. My favourite person in the world. Whatever we had, I became so desperate not to mess it up. He was the best thing in my life. 

“I’ve never been one to believe in soulmates or any of that spiritual stuff, but I’ve grown to observe something in my life and the lives of those around me. There’s always going to be one person who stands out from the rest. Maybe they were your first love, maybe they were your best friend in college, or maybe you married them. There will be many people who affect your life in all sorts of ways, but there will be one who you carry with you,” he patted his heart, “every single day.”

“And Harry is that person for you.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t help but notice you’ve been speaking in the past tense.”

With narrowed eyes, Louis lifted his head, then he opened his mouth to speak again.

### June, 1995

The last night of the North American tour was in Ottawa. They were playing to a stadium, meaning there would be nearly thirty thousand people in the audience. A sold-out show. 

Even with years of touring, TV performances, and bar shows of experience, Louis still found himself occasionally waking up with a belly full of anxiety that lasted until he stepped onto the stage that night. He never liked to do anything on those days. No exploring the city, no trying new food or seeing the sights. Typically, he would spend the morning in his hotel room or on the bus trying to distract his mind, then he’d head to the venue early to scope out the stage, trying to bring himself down from the jitters and the nervous chatter. But he was used to spending tours alone.

When he told Harry what was going on that morning, Harry suggested they go for a walk and get some tea—something herbal, to avoid caffeine—and a little fresh air. It helped a bit, but when they got back to the room and Louis decided to shower, being alone with his thoughts just fired him up again. It wasn’t crippling, but it felt like a mosquito biting on his neck that wouldn’t let up. 

“I’m going to the venue,” Louis said when he strolled into the kitchen area of the room, drying his hair with a towel. Harry was sitting at the table with a book, but Louis couldn’t see the cover.

“It’s barely noon,” Harry said, flipping to the next page. He sat right in front of the window, using the sun as a reading light. 

“Yeah, but they’re setting up already. I’m just going to go check it out. You can come if you want.”

Louis’ hair was still damp, but he didn’t care to style it. He just needed his wallet and a proper shirt instead of the one he pulled on only because it was crumpled on the bed. It was plain black but slightly baggy on him, so he assumed it must’ve been Harry’s. Sometimes, even they couldn’t tell.

Louis turned back to the bathroom to toss the towel. He lifted the collar of the shirt to sniff it for cleanliness. It smelled like Harry. 

Actually, he decided, this would work for the day.

Harry’s voice followed him. “I’ll come with you,” he said, his face appearing behind Louis in the mirror.

Louis’ next words were muffled by toothpaste. “You don’t have to if you want to hang out around here. See what Niall is doing, or something.”

“Niall is definitely preoccupied,” Harry said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway. “The fiancee is here. She flew in this morning for the last show.”

Rinsing his mouth, Louis spat the water then said, “I still can’t believe that son of a bitch is getting married.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re getting to that age,” Harry sighed. “Friends getting married, having kids.”

“Do you think that, you know,” Louis eyed him, “there may be another reason…?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head as he turned away. “Don’t be an asshole,” he said, knowing Louis was kidding. Those two had been together for years. Walking down the aisle was just in the cards for them.

“I am glad he’s settling down,” Louis called out while Harry went in search of his wallet and keycard. “Marriage will be good for him. Having a family and all that proper adult stuff.”

“I think you’re right,” Harry said from the bedroom. “But I couldn’t imagine doing that at this age.”

“No?”

“Not until I’m thirty, minimum. By then, I’ll be ready for the responsibility of a family, I’m sure.”

“Thirty is a good age.”

“You think you’ll have kids one day?”

Louis turned the light off behind him, meeting Harry back in the kitchen. Harry handed him his wallet that he had forgotten on his bedside table. 

“Who knows? Could be nice, but I’m not in any rush.”

But now the idea was planted in his mind. Harry planted the idea in his mind. On a day when his mind wanted to do everything it could to race all day long. So the idea continued brewing there as they left the room, but Louis didn’t say another word about it.

The crew was already hard at work when Harry and Louis got there. They made the rounds to say their hellos, both of them having made a habit to get to know everyone on every tour they went on. Over the years, they tended to bring the same people back, so it was nice to see familiar faces when they went out on the road.

When they met up again, Louis was going to go check out his dressing room, hoping to get a bottle of water and see what the snack situation was like. But at the end of the hall, placed ever so conveniently with the keys still in the ignition, was a golf cart.

“Want to go for a drive?” Louis said, mischief in his voice. 

The side of Harry’s mouth curled into a smile. “You beat me to the question.”

Perhaps stealing a golf cart was one of the more childish things they could’ve chosen to do with their spare time, but the hallway was totally empty. There was no one around to tell them no, or deny them the thrill of taking it outside and driving full speed down the ramp. 

Louis took the driver’s seat, so Harry tightened his grip on the side handlebar before he could hit the gas. It jolted at the start, but soon Louis was speeding around a sharp turn with Harry laughing next to him. This was something Louis used to do often in the early days of Fearless Doe. Anything to be a menace, was his goal during their first couple of years busing around America. Goofing around at soundcheck, exploring rooms that they were probably not supposed to at different venues with Liam, showing up late and turning himself into a bit of a diva. Eventually, he grew out of it, figuring out how to be a professional and thrusting himself into his art.

But with Harry, there was something about him that brought out that youthfulness again. Maybe it was that, together, they were finding the teenage excitement of first love that they both missed out on. Discovering who you are and who you see yourself as through another person. They weren’t calling it love or a relationship of any kind, but what they had contained all the same qualities. It was the first time Louis felt like he had found his truest self.

Harry had to draw the line when Louis threatened to do a fishtail in the loading area, and even Louis had to admit that risking flipping the cart was a bad idea. Instead, he found the quietest open space he could, one where absolutely no one was around. No one cleaning, no one moving equipment. He parked near a wall, looked at Harry with a brazen smile, and met him in an eager kiss.

It felt sneaky and adventurous, like a teen movie. That was a theme they found themselves repeating. Behaving like they were sixteen-year-olds on the living room couch, praying their parents didn’t come home early. Sharing in a chaste kiss at their lockers between classes, claiming they will miss each other even though their shared lunch period was only an hour away. Staying up late sitting on one of their bedroom floors, listening to a mixtape one made for the other and sharing their ambitions. Driving up to a lookout and parking the car there to have their big night under the stars, even though you can’t see very many stars from the backseat of a sedan. 

Louis wondered what it would’ve been like if they actually knew each other in high school, but it was hard to imagine. They were two years apart and never hung around the same types of people. He barely even knew what Harry was like back then. Just another kid who talked too much and tried to be everyone’s best friend. Louis was filled with angst and dreaming of the day he never had to go back there. 

But if they had each other then, they wouldn’t have each other now. At least, not like this. Chances were, neither of them would’ve found the same kind of success. They would’ve given up on their dreams or manifested them in a way that didn’t equate to the lives they had created for themselves. Surely they would still be happy, but there would’ve been sacrifice. There would always be sacrifice. It just came in a different form.

Louis was happy with where they were now. With this _something_ that they found in each other. Because this something felt like so much more than what they were ready to say out loud.

With his arms wrapped around Harry tight, Louis could taste a sweetness on his lips, and he found himself focusing on it as the tips of his fingers slipped under Harry’s shirt, just to feel the warmness of his skin. He felt Harry’s hand caress his cheek, and the smile growing on his lips.

Louis knew what this feeling was.

But then an unexpected blaring of the golf cart horn made them jump away from each other. Louis thought he might’ve accidentally hit it with his knee, but instead, when they pulled apart, it was Shep who was standing next to them, one hand under his arm, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said, his voice strained.

Harry pushed himself further away, his cheeks flushing red. Louis didn’t exactly understand the issue. Shep had seen them attached at the hip nearly every waking hour. He knew they had been sharing a hotel room for the last three months. What did he think they were doing in there? 

“Can we help you?” Louis said with a bite to his tone.

“I’ve been letting this go on too freely, haven’t I? Carrying on without question because I thought it was just some tension you had to get out of your systems. I figured you could keep a secret when you had to, but clearly—”

“Can you cool your shit for a second?” Louis jumped out of the cart, signalling for Harry to stay put. “What are you freaking out about?”

Shep scoffed. “Are you really asking me that?”

In a second, Louis’ heart began racing in fury. “Listen, asshole—”

“No, it’s my turn to speak. We’ve been looking the other way for too long. If this is what’s happening,” he waved a finger between Harry and Louis, “then we need to have a conversation about it. Because I don’t think you understand the scale of what you’re doing. This isn’t ‘no big deal.’ You don’t do this the right way and it _will_ have consequences.”

Louis’ teeth were grinding together, his hands holding his elbows. He turned over his shoulder, first looking at the floor then meeting Harry’s eyes. Harry was sitting calmly, his eyebrows arched. His cheeks were still rosy, but he didn’t look angry. Not as angry as Louis felt. 

Louis turned back to answer, but Harry beat him to it.

“Call Lori, then,” Harry said. “Set up a meeting for next week. We’ll make a plan.”

“No,” Shep shook his head, pushing his jacket back to place his hands firmly on his hips. “We’re doing this now. I’ll find Lori and meet you in twenty.” He pointed his finger at Louis’ chest. “Your dressing room.”

Louis took in a sharp breath. “Fine.”

Shep walked away first, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. He had nothing to say about the golf cart, so Louis decided it was his to drive back. Passing Shep by without even looking in his direction would be a pleasure.

Harry was quiet at first, sitting with his thoughts and the whirring of the cart, but he eventually said, “We knew this was coming sooner or later.”

“I know.” Louis nodded slowly. “I was kind of hoping we’d have a little longer of just… us. I wasn’t expecting to have the ‘what are we?’ conversation with Shep and Lori in the room.”

“I think we need to hear what they have to say before we can make that decision.”

Louis didn’t like those words. They twisted a knot in his stomach and left him with an accelerated feeling of unease. Like he was climbing up a steep mountain and his harness just came loose.

“Alright,” Louis said, his voice retreating. “We’ll hear them out.”

It felt like getting sent to the principal’s office. They sat next to each other on the couch, Shep and Lori in the chairs across from them. Harry had his legs crossed, Louis with one leg folded underneath himself. Lori had brought in a tray of coffee, entering the room with a smile in hopes to ease the tension. All four lattes went untouched.

“Just remember that when we say this, we have your best interests at heart,” Lori began.

Louis breathed a laugh through his nose. “You sound like you’re our parents letting us know you’re getting a divorce.”

Lori twisted her mouth to one side. “What do you want me to say? This isn’t a fun conversation for any of us.”

“Then why don’t you let me start?” Louis sat up straighter. “Harry and I have been seeing each other. You two think that’s a bad idea. We’re going to bring bad PR, ruin our images, what have you. As if we don’t already know that a picture of us holding hands would cause a media circus. It’s been three months of this. That’s it. Whatever comes to be, we’ll keep it quiet.”

Shep leaned forward in his chair, pressing his lips into a flat line as he rubbed his palms together. “Louis, let me explain to you what would happen if a picture got out.”

“Here we fucking go…” Louis fell back into his seat, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

“No, I need you to listen up because you don’t seem to get what’s happening here. This nonchalance you have about this is naive and jaded. Let’s say a picture surfaces of you two, I dunno, out to dinner somewhere. Innocent enough. Two friends hanging out. But then a second picture comes out. And then a third, but this time it’s breakfast. The gossip mills start talking. They bring up your past—no public relationships, suspiciously supportive of gays—stir the pot a bit. Point out how close you two have gotten. You think you’re being discreet, but you have friends of friends who start talking. Someone sees you leave a party together and two days later you’re on an episode of _Extra_ and on the cover of _People Magazine_. You never confirm or deny anything, but rumours spiral. Suddenly you’re putting your career at risk because speculation of sexuality is gossip, but a secret relationship is a scandal.” 

“Is that not what we pay you for? If you insist it must be covered up, then cover it up,” Harry said, quite boldly. He had hardly moved since they sat down.

“You both have said no to cover-ups over the years,” Lori pointed out. “If we start that now, it means going out on orchestrated dates, getting photographed with girls. You don’t want to do that, I respect it. We’re not selling your relationship status. We’re selling music.”

“Until we’re not,” Shep cut back in. “It’s not just your careers. It’s everyone who works for you and with you. Your bandmates, especially. You know by now that you carry the most weight in your groups. You fuck it up for yourselves, you’re fucking it up for everyone else. Because, you see, neither of you are Freddie or Elton. You have the world at your fingertips, yes, but you’re not untouchable. If anything, that just makes it so much easier for you to let it slip. You’re on every TV and every newsstand, and like it or not, the world’s opinion of you _will_ make or break your career. _Especially_ right now.”

Louis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The bigotry Shep was spewing as if it was written truth. He scoffed, resting his forehead in his hand. What he hated most was that Shep was right. He was horribly blatant about it and Louis could curse the heavens that life was this way, but the industry was cruel to anyone who dared challenge it. Especially the ones with something to lose.

With a slow, deep breath, he tried to collect himself, but anger was oozing from him. “Is that what’s happening? Us wanting to be together is fucking up everyone’s careers? Great, good to know we have the loving support of our managers.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Lori insisted. “We just want you to know what’s at stake. It’s a complicated situation and we have to be careful. But you said it yourself, it’s only been three months, right? It’s good we’re having this conversation early so you can weigh your options.”

“Options?” Harry spoke quietly.

Louis turned to look at him. His legs were crossed, his arms were crossed, but his eyes were low and solemn. How was he being so calm? This was _bullshit_ that they were spewing. Looking back, Louis could understand the insistence. It was 1995 and coming out in the nineties could quite literally ruin careers. At least, that was the general opinion. There were the exceptions, but as Shep said, they were untouchables. People who were already so incredibly famous that people chose to ‘look the other way’ when it came to their sexuality. It was a dirty secret, in their minds. 

Louis absolutely despised their minds.

“There are options,” Shep said slowly. “I suggest we consider the easiest ones first.”

Which meant break up. Or stop seeing each other, since they weren’t technically in a relationship. They were just completely head over heels for each other. At least, that’s what Louis was feeling on his end. They were yet to have that big talk. He assumed, now, that it would be happening sooner rather than later.

It happened that night after the show. Louis had to numb his mind to make it through. Not artificially, though he did have a drink or two before going out there to help out. The show helped him turn his brain off. He was able to throw himself into the music and feel all the energy and emotion the audience was giving him rather than his own. It was an escape. The last consistent escape he would be getting for a couple of months.

They got back in their hotel room after a quick and quiet drive there. Their flights home would be leaving early the next morning. Louis was heading to Oregon, and Harry was going to LA. Just for a couple of nights, though, then Harry was supposed to be hopping on a plane to spend some time at Louis’ secluded home. That was the plan they made last week.

“Should we talk it out now, or sit in silence longer?” Louis said when they walked through the door. Turning on the light, Harry immediately headed towards the bedroom. He looked rightfully exhausted.

“I don’t know how to have this conversation,” Harry admitted, sitting down on the bed to pull off his shoes.

Louis walked through the doorway slowly, making his way to the opposite side of the bed. Away from Harry’s line of vision until he turned around. “Just tell me how you feel about everything,” he said.

Harry took a deep breath, but he didn’t turn around. “Like Lori said, it’s complicated. I want so badly for this decision to be straightforward, but it’s risky and challenging. Maybe we just have to think on it longer. Take these next couple of months to—”

“Do you want to be with me?” Louis said, hoping the question was as straightforward as Harry was looking for. Because for Louis, this wasn’t that hard of a choice. He’d fought hard for his life and career to go the way he wanted it. This wasn’t going to be the thing that caused him to fumble.

Harry turned to him, twisting his body so he could look Louis in the eye. “In a perfect world where nothing would get in the way, I’d be with you in a heartbeat. No hesitation.”

“I’m not asking about your perfect world, Harry. We live in this one. With all the risks and consequences, do you want to be with me? Because I want to be with you. In this world, I still don’t have any hesitation.”

Harry’s head fell. He didn’t know where to look, his mind scrambling for the right words. Louis noticed, as the light hit Harry’s cheek, that his makeup remover wipe hadn’t quite caught all the glitter.

“This isn’t as easy as you want it to be,” Harry said, the defeat already apparent in his voice.

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because it’s selfish, Louis!” he snapped, his eyes becoming wide as his head whipped around. “I care about you so much, you know I do. But I also care about Niall and Q and Bex. Zayn and Liam, too. Think about how big the teams who work for us are. Are you not feeling the pressure of this decision?”

“Q and Bex have been doing the same thing for years,” Louis argued. “Are they being selfish too?”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“Why isn’t it? They’ve been keeping quiet about their relationship since the band started!”

“Is that how you want to live? Constantly looking over our shoulders? Having Shep and Lori breath down our necks for every goddamn thing we do? I’ve seen what Q and Bex went through. I watched the entire thing unfold. They’re still together, but there were months where they were hanging on by a thread. I just don’t know if I can take that pressure.”

“We’d be taking it on together.”

“You say that now, but—” 

Harry stopped himself and Louis watched the frustration brewing in him, his eyes squinted closed as he shook his head.

“But what?” Louis prodded.

There was almost a helplessness to the way Harry opened his mouth to speak again. 

“Maybe we need a break to think about this. If we’re apart, then we can really think for ourselves and not influence the other’s decision.”

Louis stretched his neck back, not expecting such a quick surrender. He felt the words heavier in his gut, the pressure of them appearing behind his eyes. “In the end, we have to make this decision together,” Louis told him carefully. “It’s not like we’re committing for life. If we want this right now, then we do the work and take the risk just to see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I get that, but I need some time to think first.”

Maybe Louis was expecting too much from him. Expecting him to look past the pressure, to go with his heart and ignore all the little worries that came with it. To forget everyone and everything that would stand in their way. To put up with the gossip and the ridicule that was sure to come. The hurt that would make him wonder if it was worth it. Those were the thoughts that Shep and Lori had put in his head. Louis had been able to look past them, but Harry had internalized every word.

In that moment, Louis wished he had the compassion he had later learned, but Harry’s refusal to be so willing to do anything for them hurt him, and the pettiness that found him wanted to hurt Harry right back.

“How is it that you never walk away from an opportunity that benefits your fucking career, but you can walk away from me just like that?”

Harry didn’t look at him and Louis was glad. He didn’t want to see his reaction, and he sure as hell didn’t want Harry to see the bitter desperation written all over his face.

Standing from the bed, Harry walked to the doorway. He turned around, but his eyes were glued to the floor. “It’s not that I’m not willing to fight, Louis. I just can’t stand how much harder it would be to lose. We end this now, it’s on our terms.”

“Then we’ve lost without even trying.”

Harry didn’t apologize for breaking Louis’ heart. But he did sleep on the couch that night.

Louis screamed into his pillow. And then, quietly, with the door closed, he wept.

### 2019

“We were both selfish.”

Harry was speaking to the air, his mind clouded with the memory. Penny hadn’t said anything during this part of the story. No questions, no assuring words. She just listened. 

“Even before, we spent too much time thinking we’d never have to take anything seriously. That we never had to be real and honest with each other. We tried to float by and then suddenly we were given an ultimatum. And then we realized we had been doing all this thinking on our own without voicing it. Louis understood the big picture. He knew how to work within it. I never considered that. I had witnessed all the ways it could go wrong already, then I was handed that same worry all at once. I got overwhelmed about making the wrong choice and then I did it anyway.”

They were still sitting on the same park bench. It felt good to talk here. Quiet, secluded. Something about fresh air made honesty and openness so much easier. A cleansing breath, in and out.

“Do you wish you would’ve had more of a chance to think about it?” Penny asked. “Surely you deserved that much.”

Harry nodded his agreement, but then said, “I had ten months to think about it. That’s how long it was before we spoke again.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I think we were waiting for the other to call first, but neither of us had the courage. It doesn't seem so long, now. But it wasn’t supposed to be ten months. Really, we should’ve been seeing each other again in one month for the European tour.”

“Which never happened.”

“Cancelling that tour crushed me, truly. But it wasn’t up to me. Everything fell apart behind the scenes. It felt like everyone was at war with each other. Us with the label. Fearless Doe and their management. And, I mean, I was a disaster. I’m not proud of it, but I started binging again. I got a handle on it pretty fast, but I wouldn’t have survived the road when I was like that. It was definitely one of my lowest points.” Harry stilled for a quiet, thoughtful pause. “Honestly, though, I think what happened with Q and Bex was the tipping point.”

“I assume Shep’s arrest didn’t help much either,” Penny said as soon as the thought came to her. 

“That was a shock, for sure. I mean, that guy’s a scumbag. I’m sure he’s done far worse than the investment fraud charge that he served, what, two months for? Martha Stewart served longer than he did. But he couldn’t leave the country while he waited on his trial, we had Filter Records clawing at our necks trying to get things back on track, and then everything fell apart.”

“So you still would’ve gone on tour if it weren’t for the series of unfortunate events?”

“At the time, of course. Louis and I could’ve sorted out whatever we needed to, even if it meant avoiding each other for the next two months. But I think we made the best decision for everyone, in the end. Do you believe in the old cliche that everything happens for a reason?”

“I think the significance of the reason can vary, but more or less, yes. You have to if you don’t want to live with so much regret.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “So that’s what it was. Everything happens for a reason. There’s only so much you can do to make it up to fans, and it cost the label millions, but you can only point blame in so many directions before you realize that the disaster could hardly be prevented.”

“So you don’t blame Q and Bex—”

“Not at all. Never. I love them like family and what they did meant a lot to me. It meant a lot to a lot of people, actually. They weren’t trying to change history or anything like that. They just wanted to share their truth, you know?”

Penny smiled gently. Thinking about that moment brought a warmness to her heart. “I was there when that happened. I wrote a piece about it.”

“I read that piece,” Harry said. “I found it online a few weeks ago. Beautifully written.”

“Well, thank you.”

She paused, never wanting to interrupt if he had something more to say. She also wanted to sit for a moment with the knowledge that Harry had read that piece. It was always an honour when someone who you admire says they admire your work just the same.

Harry’s phone must’ve vibrated because he was suddenly shuffling through his jacket pockets to search for it. He apologized for the interruption, eventually retrieving it from his right pants pocket. Penny said it was fine, trying not to watch as he slid up the screen with his thumb and read over the message so she wouldn’t appear nosey. But she did notice the hint of a smile on his face as he typed something back, then put the phone away.

“We should start heading back,” Harry said. “There’s more to tell, so I’ll get lunch delivered. We might have some company, though.”

“That sounds great,” Penny agreed with a welcome smile.

“Are you finished with your coffee?” 

Harry lifted her cup before she could reply. Seeing that it was empty anyway, he excused himself to toss both cups in the nearby garbage.

Once Penny had her belongings collected, she hurried to catch up so he wouldn’t have to come back. The apartment was at least a fifteen-minute walk away, so they could keep going from where they left off.

“If you don’t mind,” Penny said, “I’d like to hear what happened leading up to the D.C. show in your own words.”

“I’m sure they told it better,” Harry laughed.

“They did a good job,” Penny admitted. “But how did you see it?”

“It was shocking,” Harry said first. “But only for a moment because, really, it was beautiful.”

### July, 1995

Harry was never good at being sad. He let it consume him, like drowning in the ocean in the middle of a rainstorm. Like screaming in an empty room. No doors or windows, the echo bouncing endlessly off every wall. The devastation hit him the moment he left that hotel room alone, a rolling suitcase scraping at his ankles as he trudged to the elevator. He wasn’t losing a three-month fling. Louis was his best friend, and he wasn’t even sure when that fact came to be. 

This felt like an all or nothing ultimatum. Risk everything to have him, or lose him to save everything else. Harry couldn’t stand the middle ground. Trying to preserve that friendship with the memory of their nights together. How good it was to have something that felt so easy, so right. Having to know that they’d never get it back even though it would always be in reach.

So, a week later, Harry found himself in his LA home, alone and drunk on expensive tequila. He’d been chugging it back all weekend, drinking it out of crystal to create the illusion that he wasn’t a sad sight to see. As he sat on the carpet, his glass coffee table between him and the muted TV playing David Letterman, he wrote a letter. A stream of his consciousness. Every drunken feeling he wanted to get out of his mind. He titled it, he signed it, but he never sent it. It was addressed to Louis, but it was a letter for himself.

_Before you, I’d never known what it was like to live in a dream like the one we created. The one where I get to wake up to your sleepy eyes that brighten into my favourite smile. The one where your fingertips feel like rose petals and fairy dust against my skin. Where your soft voice says my name in so many tones, with so many inflections, through those lips that taste of your brilliant words. In this dream, I hold you in my arms, in my thoughts. You wrap around me like a warm blanket, like a fire burning on a winter night._

_I wish to never forget the details you don’t even realize I’ve memorized. The way you fold your hands together when you’re nervous, twisting your fingers to keep them busy. That you take one sugar in your coffee and stir it eight times just to make sure it’s mixed. The way your lips felt when you pressed them to my forehead to say goodnight. Every single night. How your faded pink hair fell over your dewdrop eyes. How every colour reminds me of you. I still dream of these details, but it’s not the dream we share. It’s the one I think of in the early hours of the morning when I’m missing the smell of roses. My blanket is not warm enough. I don’t have your kiss to send me to sleep._

_But it’s the words I miss the most. Every crafted joke and every offhand complaint. The words you’d only speak to me, whispered in my ear as you pulled the hair on the back of my neck. The words I never got to say because in this dream I found love. It was not pure, and it was not obvious. Our love was a lump of coal we spent years crushing between our fists to get a diamond that never appeared._

_But I love you, Louis. And in that dream, I told you. I just wish it wasn’t the wrong one._

Harry dropped his pencil, letting it roll off the table without care. 

A picture frame sat next to him. Usually, he had it resting on the console table by the door, but when he stumbled in that night, he swiped it off and brought it with him to collapse on the couch. It was the painting from Paris, the one he bought after the last time he fought with Louis. He loved it so much that he matched the rest of the decor of his front entrance around it.

The frame had those little twists on the back, so he twisted them around to free the cardboard piece holding the contents in place. He pulled out the photo that was hidden behind the artwork. The photo he took on that same day in Paris: Louis staring off at the Eiffel Tower, no clue that someone was capturing that moment. Both through a camera lens, and in Harry’s memory forever. Louis looked so beautiful here. The way the wind had fluffed up his hair. He wasn’t smiling exactly, but the corners of his mouth were thoughtfully lifted from a frown. His shoulders were scrunched up by his ears. Those sunglasses were blocking his eyes, but Harry knew they were beautiful too. At that moment, Louis was so purely _himself_.

Harry tried to put himself back there. He tried to feel the wind, to meet Louis’ gaze, to call out his name. But no matter how loud he yelled, his voice was silenced.

Harry dropped the picture and lifted the bottle of tequila, pouring more into his glass without measuring. Soon enough, the buzz in his mind would dull to a gentle rumbling wave, cradling him right to sleep.

“We picked a date,” Niall said as they sat next to each other in the backseat of the car taking them to the festival grounds. They were scheduled to go on right before the last headliner, but it still made for an early start.

Harry pulled his gaze from the window, where he was staring at passing cars as he mindlessly folded and unfolded the arms on his sunglasses. It wasn’t sunny out, but the glasses had kept the light away from his hungover eyes. “For what?” he asked.

Niall raised his eyebrows. “The wedding. April sixth. We wanted to get married in the spring.”

“Oh, good,” Harry smiled timidly. “That sounds perfect for you guys.”

“I’d love it if you’d be one of my groomsmen.”

Harry lifted his head, his smile becoming real. “Of course! I’d be honoured.” He reached his arm across the seat to pat Niall’s knee excitedly. His happiness for Niall was always authentic. Before he proposed, Niall had mentioned groomsmen duties already. Harry gave a thrilled yes then and he was even more thrilled now, even if he was having trouble showing it.

“Thank you,” Niall told him sincerely.

“Do you know where the wedding is happening?”

“We rented a cottage back home. Beautiful yard, balcony off the roof, huge main floor. We both have so much family, we didn’t want to make them travel. It’s going to be a big hometown party.” 

Niall had met his bride when he still lived in his Seattle condo. She was an environmental lawyer living in the place downstairs. They ran into each other nearly every day for two months before he asked her out. They were complete opposites. Their busy schedules forced them to keep their relationship long-distance for years. And yet, here they still were, utterly in love.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” Harry insisted, but Niall didn’t look convinced. Surely it was true, but the real excitement, one that he could express, would have to come when he had less weighing on his mind.

A dull throbbing reappeared behind Harry’s eyes, and it reminded him of the churning in his stomach. He wasn’t sick, but he definitely wouldn’t be consuming much more than water any time soon. Until tonight, that is. When he found himself repeating the cycle he was slowly losing himself in.

Niall was staring at him still, but Harry tried not to look at him. He thought that maybe if he appeared neutral and unbothered, the question on the tip of Niall’s tongue wouldn’t come out. But Niall knew him better than that. He wasn’t looking at Harry in pity, but he wished more than anything that he could take his friend’s sadness away.

“You still haven’t called him,” Niall said.

Harry took a deep breath, even though the mention of his own shattered love life did not surprise him. “It’s only been three weeks.”

“Only? Dude, you should’ve called him up the moment you landed in LA.”

Niall never got the whole story. Harry didn’t tell him about the guilt and panic that caused him to leave because he knew Niall would think it’s ridiculous. He would wonder why on Earth Harry would even consider letting his fear stop him from being happy. But Niall would never understand it. He was a hopeless romantic whose perseverance for love would be celebrated, while Harry’s would be an untold story.

What he told Niall, right after things ended, was that he wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship and Louis was upset that they weren’t on the same page. A half-truth. He said that they were both in the wrong because they were. But this was the right decision for now. As much as Harry hated it, they had spent too long pretending their lives weren’t as complicated as they were. Sacrifice and selflessness were required.

“I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t know what I would say to him,” he eventually let out.

“Harry, you’re miserable.”

“I can know this is the right decision and still miss him.” He tried to remove the anger from his voice, but Niall could tell it wasn’t directed at him.

“You know, the change I saw in you when you were with him—”

“Please,” Harry cut in sharply before Niall could continue. “Please don’t. I can’t hear that right now.” 

There was an apology in Niall's eyes, but silence took over the car instead. Harry considered asking the driver to turn on the radio, but silence felt better. He wanted to feel nothing at all.

When Niall began speaking again, Harry listened, but he didn’t look nor reply.

“Harry, one day all you’re going to have is the people you love. All of this will be a memory you’ll look back fondly on. You’ll think about the crowd and the places you’ve seen, but it’ll be your past. The people you’ve gathered into your life will still be there. You’ll get to invite them over for dinner and laugh with them and feel how much they mean to you and how much happiness they bring. So when you find a person who you know will outlast the memories, don’t push them out. They’re not getting in the way of something better.”

Q and Bex had gotten to the venue before them. They took their own car and found themselves in the band’s joint makeshift dressing room hours before they needed to go on. But that was fine because it meant they had plenty of time to watch the afternoon acts from side stage.

“Hello, my dears,” Q said, standing from the couch as they walked into the room. She hugged Niall with one arm, and then she stretched it out to reach Harry. She was holding her drink in the other hand, a cigarette between her fingers. Hugs were always their way of greeting each other around the band, and Bex was next in line. Five years at it and they had become quite the family.

Before they sat to visit, Niall fished out two beers from the cooler while Harry pulled up a chair from the corner. Bex was taking up nearly the entire couch, her head in Q’s lap as she blew smoke upwards, aiming away from Q’s face. Anything that got close Q blew away on her own without much care.

“How are you doing, H?” Q asked, doing a poor job of suppressing her underlying intentions. While her thoughtful eyes were watching him, her fingers were running through the ends of Bex’s hair.

“Great,” Harry said, the lie coming so easily as he settled in. “Did you hear that Niall has the date for his wedding?”

“Do you?” Q gasped, stretching her neck to see Niall’s face as he crossed the room to hand an uncapped beer to Harry. Harry almost refused it, but instead, he said nothing, just holding the cold bottle in his hand. 

“What season did you pick? Please tell me it’s not summer. I know you guys were thinking outdoors, but sweating in fancy clothes is never fun.”

As Niall filled Q in on the details, more than he had told Harry in the car, Harry could feel Bex’s eyes on him. A steady gaze he only acknowledged with half a smile. She wanted to say more, force the truth out of him, but she couldn’t do that here.

Days after Harry had to make one of the most difficult decisions of his life, he had called Bex. He should’ve called Louis just to hear his voice. Maybe to apologize that he couldn’t be as brave as Louis was willing to be. Instead, all he needed was reassurance. Someone to pity the sob story he had found himself tangled into. Someone who would get it.

Over the phone, he told Bex everything. What it felt like to fall in love with his best friend, something she could certainly relate to. The ache he felt in his chest when Shep and Lori told him that he had to decide which sacrifices were worth it. How he panicked and told Louis he couldn’t do it before he gave himself a fair chance to think it through. And how much guilt and sadness he was holding onto for knowing he broke Louis’ heart, doing the same to his own in the process. It was a decision he was forcing himself to see as the right one, but Louis would never look at it that way. Calling him now would just be twisting the knife.

“I’ve had that conversation,” Bex said through the line. “Like the one you had with Shep and Lori. Even with Q holding my hand, it was still one of the worst things I’ve had to sit through. How are you supposed to accept that your love is a secret that has to be kept hidden?”

“I’ve accepted it,” Harry said as he lay on top of his duvet, wearing the oversized Rush t-shirt and baggy sweats he reserved for his time at home. “I’ll never be happy about it, but I’ve accepted it.”

“We shouldn’t have to. Just once I’d like to put up a good fight. Something they could never win against. Strip them of all control they have over us. I haven’t seen many big artists do it. Elton John, Boy George, K.D. Lang. I couldn’t name another.”

“Bowie,” Harry added, but that exhausted his list.

Harry could tell by the tone of Bex's voice that she was a little tipsy, just like he was from his third glass of wine since dinner. One more and that was the bottle.

“Most of us don’t have the power or money to go against a label. They could take everything from us if they wanted.”

“Could they?” Bex didn’t seem convinced. But then there was a deep, staticky sigh on the other end. “I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this. I can tell you what I think you should do, but I don’t think you’re going to do it. You just need to know that he wants to hear from you.”

“He doesn’t,” Harry insisted. “I told him I wasn’t willing to make it work. How can I tell him I suddenly changed my mind when he knew what he wanted from the start? I didn’t know then and I still don’t, now.”

“Maybe he changed his mind, too. Not completely, but maybe he wants to take it slow or at least meet up for coffee to see how you can fall back into a friendship.”

“I’m not ready for that. I need to know what I want before I bring him back into my life.”

“What do you know so far?”

Harry took a slow, calming breath, his chest rising and falling into his mattress as he loosened the receiver from his ear. They’d been talking for well over an hour, now.

“I know that I’m angry, but I don’t know who I’m angry at. I can’t change that the world is an intolerable place. It’s just some bullshit we’ve had to get used to.”

“I’m not getting used to it,” Bex said. “I refuse.”

When they hung up the phone that night, Bex found something lodged deep in her chest. Something that dared her to be bold. The kind of bold her soft and heart-strong personality never allowed her to be. It was an idea growing at a rapid pace, widening her eyes with every passing thought. 

So she told Q about it. And together, they made a plan.

Harry didn’t know what Bex was thinking from across the dressing room, especially when she forced herself to pull her eyes away. Her attention landed on Niall’s explanation of which colours they had picked for the reception: powder pink and leafy green. Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard Niall this excited to plan something since their old album release parties. Something told Harry there wouldn’t be another one of those for a while, if ever again.

An hour before they went on, Bex led vocal exercises, which had always been their form of a pre-show ritual. As the only one with formal vocal training at the time they formed, she felt it was her duty to ensure everyone sounded their best.

Outdoor shows were Harry’s favourite to perform. There was something so raw about knowing that the crowd had been standing out there all day, their feet digging into the grass, their bodies sweaty from the sun and compactness. In his own experience being on the ground, he often was exhausted right before the last few acts, but the music sprung him back to life. These kinds of crowds were tough. They could stick it out until the end and still scream at the top of their lungs for the final encore. The tail end of adrenaline would send them on the train home, and then they’d pass out as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

Ever since Smudge and Fearless Doe’s stunt at the Seattle show, “Getting Worse” had gotten a resurgence of radio play and even re-entered the charts. Clearly, Smudge fans felt like they were being deprived of something they missed. So the band shuffled up the setlist a bit and decided to open with it.

Niall went out there first, taking in the cheers as he kicked off the beat. The others stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for their cue.

“Hey,” Q said, holding Harry’s chin to turn his head to the side, “your cheek is looking a little bare.”

Harry shrugged as Q dropped her hand. “I’ll find a new gimmick,” he said.

Q frowned, turning back to the stage. “That’s too bad. I liked the way it made you sparkle.”

That night, they played an electric set. The crowd was hyped and Harry lost himself in it. His catwalk was taken from him, but he got a big speaker front and centre on the stage that he could use to get himself a little higher. Anything to feel like the audience was a wave that could crash right into him.

He pulled out all the stops. The teasing and the chants. The banter with Q who could not only keep up but found herself a few steps ahead of him. At one point, she managed to convince him to partake in a little guitar solo battle, which cut into their time, but no one had jumped in to stop them. Niall eagerly took it upon himself to referee, and Harry lost quite graciously. He tried to put up a good fight, but really, he didn’t stand a chance.

As they neared the final song, Harry realized there was a feeling of ecstasy in the air. These thousands of people were singing his words back to him, but it didn’t feel like it did at those stadium and arena shows. The sunset was blazing next to the stage and he felt like he could see every single person’s face filled with joy as he slowly lowered the microphone from his mouth. He raised his arms to conduct them, feeling their voices in the air through every gentle movement. When he turned to his bandmates, he wanted to make sure he could see the elation in their eyes. He wanted them to feel this moment together, like a beam of light shooting from their hearts into the warm night.

“You sound absolutely beautiful tonight, D.C.,” Harry told them. They didn’t stop singing to cheer. They just sang louder, like they wanted the heavens to hear them.

When the music ended, the screams were deafening. Goosebumps started appearing on Harry’s arms as he watched the above-head clapping and stretched cheeks on fans’ faces. Niall stepped down from his kit as Q and Bex handed off their instruments to stagehands for the group bow. Harry had put his microphone on his stand to get it out of the way, but just before they formed their line with arms around each other, he watched Bex take it and hold it at her side.

At first, he thought she was going to say another thank you, but she stood in the middle of the stage like usual, one of her arms around Harry and the other around Q. Niall was on the opposite end, and Harry leaned over to see if he could catch his eye. Something was going on that he didn’t know about. Based on his oblivious smile, Niall didn’t seem to know either.

They dropped their heads in a bow, and when they separated Harry did it again with his hands pressed together to say thank you. But then the screams were getting louder, if that was even possible, and for a moment Harry couldn’t understand why. 

Until he turned his head to see Q and Bex, their arms around each other and their lips locked together in a determined kiss. Long enough that it couldn’t be missed nor mistaken for something more innocent. 

Harry couldn’t help his jaw from dropping open. He looked to Niall, whose shock matched his. When he looked to the crowd, just to see if they were seeing what he was seeing, the open mouths and wide eyes confirmed it was indeed real. But amongst the cheers, he quickly understood what was happening here. 

They weren’t trying to shock the world. 

They were setting themselves free.

So Harry stood back and he joined in the applause.

When they broke with smiles that could hardly be contained, Bex brought the microphone to her mouth. Q kept both arms around her in a hug. “Queer love is real love and I love my girlfriend more than anything in the world,” she said, the bold declaration coming straight from her heart. “Spread joy, spread love, and have a good night, D.C.”

With their arms around each other’s shoulders and their heads held high, Q and Bex skipped off stage. Pride swelled from Harry’s chest as he watched love for them brighten through the stands. Those were about to walk into a storm of chaos, but they didn’t care. From this moment forward, they had no choice but to live their truth. There were no consequences, they decided. Only unfortunate souls who would never know true love and beauty—who hadn’t allowed that kind of colour into their lives.

At that moment, when their kiss was broadcasted on that screen and plastered on every tabloid thereafter, Q and Bex were well-aware what course they had set for the future of Smudge. There would be a media circus and lost fans and questions about sexuality for weeks and months and years to come. But when you peeled back the layers and saw what truly happened, Q and Bex knew their bravery would bring them happiness in the long run. This wasn’t a sacrifice. This was proving a point. This was taking back what should’ve been theirs all along.

The next day, Smudge was the talk of the nation. No one was crashing and burning. No one was losing their careers. For Q and Bex, they were just getting started.

### 2019

“I remember reading about that the day after it happened,” Louis mused. “It shocked me in a good way. I was incredibly happy for them and really proud. They had spent so long being forced to tiptoe around, so it was huge for them to finally be able to share that extra piece of themselves.”

“Was the backlash expected?”

“Absolutely. But they didn’t care. After that night, they kept quiet for a long time. Since the tour didn’t happen, they were able to spend the rest of the year away from everything. During that time, I know they made an effort to be present in that community in a way they couldn’t before. They went to benefits and events and protests. Later, they became more vocal with their experiences, as you obviously know. It was empowering, for sure.” 

Penny and Louis had found themselves in the recording booth since that was where Louis had his piano. There was another one in the sitting room upstairs, much grander with a glossy black finish, bay windows and long sheer curtains overlooking it. This one was smaller and tucked into a corner, though it did have wheels for when he wanted to record in the centre of the room. While Penny sat on one of the stools, watching from afar, Louis pressed the keys into a melody she didn’t recognize. She wondered if he’d written it long ago, or just made it up on the spot.

“Did you talk to them at all after their coming out, or were you still keeping your distance?”

“I called them the next day, but they didn’t pick up because they had pulled the plug on their phone line. They hadn’t turned on the TV, either, or even considered stepping outside to find a paper. A week later, I tried again, and they sounded so happy. I’d seen their frustration firsthand and I could obviously empathize. That was something a lot of us wished we could’ve done.”

“You must’ve felt grateful.”

“Well, yes, but to be clear, they didn’t do that for us. What Harry had told Bex over the phone was just the tipping point. We were all dealing with the same bullshit, but the way it impacted them… I don’t think that was something I fully understood because I never had to go through that level of secrecy. But they were fed up with their situation, so they put themselves back in control.”

“When I spoke to them, Bex said it was the best decision she ever made. Q said she would’ve done it years before, but it wouldn’t have been the right moment. What do you think about that?”

Louis was facing her while he played, but the complexity of his chords faded as his mind shifted its focus. In some ways, Penny felt the tone he had chosen—hopeful and uplifting—was like a peek into his thoughts. 

“I think we all landed on the right side of history in the end. You can spend your energy hating the fight, or you can put your all into fighting it. At some point, I think we’ve all done both. I spent so much time hating it.”

“You have every right to,” Penny told him. “Sometimes I look at the state of this country, even after all these years, and still feel hopelessly angry.”

“You know, Q told me this interesting thing about how she handles it. She said she keeps her anger in her pocket. That way it’s not buried deep down, waiting to lash out as soon as it becomes too much to bear. It’s on hand for the moments when she needs to let out how she feels, but it’s out of sight until she pulls it out. It’s in her control.”

Penny smiled down at her notebook. She knew a similar quote was already sitting in there from weeks ago when she had the privilege of sitting down with another two musicians who inspired her in her youth.

“Coming back to you, you mentioned how long it had been since you and Harry spoke again.”

“It was Niall’s wedding,” Louis said. “Harry and I had zero contact with each other until Niall’s wedding.”

“Were you nervous about seeing him again?”

“Yes, but it was Niall’s day. I was there for him, and I certainly wasn’t going to be complicit in anything that would ruin it. Seeing Harry was inevitable, but I showed up with the intention to avoid him.”

“You weren’t interested in talking over what happened?”

Louis snorted. “Not there.” But then he paused. “Not when I walked into the wedding, anyway.”

The key of his melody became minor and Penny wondered if he was still holding some resentment for that time they spent apart. From what Penny heard, the bond between them was intense and beautiful, and to end it so suddenly the way they had was painful. But she could understand both perspectives. Harry had seen what Q and Bex went through, and he knew there was so much to consider. He wanted to be sensible, but Louis was ready to jump in headfirst without care. Wasn’t the love they were starting to feel for each other enough? Did it matter that they weren’t sure how long it would last? But they never had those difficult conversations. Silence is not honesty; it’s just prolonged hurt. They hurt each other and they hurt themselves, and the loop of silence just kept spinning.

“Actually, that’s not true,” Louis said. He hadn’t just come to the realization; it was something he only now decided to share. “We had contact. Sort of. He called me once, on my birthday, but I wasn’t home because I was away for the holidays.”

“So you didn’t speak?”

“No.” Louis shook his head slowly as he lifted his hands, the last chord he played still ringing out. “No, but he did leave a message.”

### 1996

The light stopped blinking and Louis stared at the machine. He was still wearing his shoes. Though he tried to hang it up, his jacket fell to a crumpled mess in the bottom of the closet the moment he heard the first words. And now, his breath felt shaky. He was leaning forward against his kitchen counter, both palms pressed into it as he tried to hold himself up. The lights felt cold and bright when the rest of the house was blanketed in darkness. After five months of nothing, he didn’t think that voice could shatter him all over again. Not even the words. Just hearing that tone directed at him and the longing it conveyed.

He pressed play again and stared at the spinning tape.

“ _H-Hey, Lou... It’s Harry, if you forgot what my voice sounded like... Shit, I shouldn’t have—” The voice faded, paused, then came back. “I should’ve known you’d be back home for Christmas. I hope you’re having a wonderful time. I hope you’re eating your mom’s cooking and giving your nana a kiss on the cheek, and that you have the biggest smile on your face when you watch them open gifts that I just know you put so much thought into._ ”

His voice had gotten a pitch higher as he held back tears. His words carried a drunken slur.

“ _I’m so sorry, Louis. I’m sorry I couldn’t be as brave as you. This wasn’t supposed to be how everything ended. We should’ve been fresh off the rest of our worldwide tour right now, spending another month at that beautiful house of yours before going back home for holidays. We’d spend Christmas morning with your family and the evening with my sister’s family. Or maybe the other way around._ ”

A sigh, loud and breathy.

“ _I still think about last summer. We were supposed to be together. We should’ve done it anyway. We should’ve pretended we didn’t hear a fucking word Lori and Shep said to us. I would’ve fallen so in love with you. More than I had, even though I didn’t know it yet. If we just had one more week, I might’ve had enough courage to—_ ”

That was where it cut off. Harry had gone on too long but learned his lesson. The second message was much shorter.

“ _Please call me back, Louis. I know you probably hate me, but I can’t stand how much I miss you. I’m sorry if that’s selfish. If we can’t fix this, the least we can do is have a proper goodbye. Take care, for now._ ”

With his eyes shut tight, Louis tried to sit with the words. Two times over didn’t feel like enough. It was eleven o’clock, now. Too late for a phone call—in all senses of the phrase. All the bravery in the world couldn’t make up for the broken heart Louis spent months mending together again. Especially not when someone else had found his way into his heart since. Someone who he had just spent the first two weeks of 1996 in the Bahamas with.

The front door opened and Louis lifted his head, just barely, to look at the man who had been distracting him for the last three months. Just as long as he was with Harry, but it wasn’t the same. He felt like he knew Harry for a lifetime. 

“I couldn’t find my wallet in the backseat. I’m gonna check in my suitcase again.”

He passed the kitchen, then stopped when he saw the exhausted look of defeat on Louis’ face.

“Are you alright, babe?” he said.

Louis nodded with a fake, tired smile. “Just fine. I think I need some sleep.”

“You look like it.”

But that night he tossed and turned worse than he ever had in a lonely bed. His mind played the slideshow of all the memories he had of Harry’s smile, his tired eyes, the sound of his laughter like a whisper in his ear. He wasn’t an easy person to forget. His charm was buried into Louis’ mind, like an addiction he had to overcome. Even after the painful rejection, he knew he could never hate Harry. He could hate what he did and wish every day that they hadn’t let their _something_ go so easily, but never him. 

So why did a second chance feel like nothing more than a step backwards?

Louis didn’t sleep a wink that night. He didn’t call, either. He could never bring himself to pick up the phone.

His distraction only lasted a week longer.

The next two months crawled by. And then came Niall’s wedding.

Louis’ invitation had a plus one, but everyone he knew was already going, most with their significant others. Liam was in the wedding party, so that was someone he probably wouldn’t see until the reception. He thought he was going alone, but a week before the wedding he got a call from Zayn, who was going through a recent breakup of his own. He decided to fly to Oregon to hang out with Louis for the first time since last fall, so Louis called up Liam and asked him to join them. The three of them got high and watched bad movies, bonded like the brothers they’d become, and talked over their heartache. 

In the middle of Louis’ living room, they sat in a circle, the coffee table holding an ashtray and burning incense between them. _Spice World_ was playing on the TV, and it was probably the fourth time they put it on while stoned this week. Liam had proclaimed it was his new favourite movie. Louis didn’t even know where the tape came from.

Leaning back, Louis could feel the buzz taking over. He wasn’t even facing the TV, and the dining chair he was sitting in was blocking Zayn’s view, who had claimed the entire couch for himself.

“You know, I really love this. I think this is my new favourite thing in the world,” Liam said from where he was sitting on the floor, his legs folded together.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “What is?”

“All of this!” he gestured one hand around the room, then reached for the can of Surge he was drinking. The house was turning into a college dorm room. “Hanging out with you guys. It’s my fucking happy place.”

“ _Spice World_ is your happy place,” Zayn said, which got him and Louis cracking up.

Liam nodded affirmatively. “Damn right,” he said. “Posh Spice is my girl. Louis, I’d consider you a Sporty Spice.”

“I’ll take that,” Louis said. “Zayn, who are you?”

“Ginger Spice,” he said. “No question.”

Louis didn’t realize how much he needed a few days like this. Nothing bearing on his mind, no deadlines approaching. They had taken a little break from music, but Louis was still writing in his free time. In a couple of weeks, they were going to head into the studio and start recording their next album, and life would feel back to normal. Ever since the rest of the tour got cancelled, Louis felt like he was living in limbo. Everything was either on pause or just temporary. But everyone else kept moving forward, so he supposed it was about time he joined the rest of them.

“Man,” Louis began with the shake of his head, “I can’t believe Niall’s gonna be a married man in a month. You look at these people you feel like you’ve known since you were kids and everyone is just hitting all these fucking milestones. I don’t get it, man. How do you do this shit _and_ the normal shit?”

“What’s the normal shit?” Zayn asked. He was slouched against the couch cushions and playing with a lighter he found on the table. With the flame lit, he swiped his finger through it, then let the button go.

“You know what I mean. You find someone, you fall in love, get married, buy a house, have a bunch of kids... You’re already on step two,” he waved a hand at Liam, the only one of the three of them who was still in a relationship.

Liam snorted. “Step two? What does that even mean? You own a house, does that mean you’re on step four?”

“No, I get it,” Zayn said. “You feel like you’re a step behind, but really, you’re just going in a different order.” He tossed the lighter in the air and caught it again. “But that’s not what this is about.”

Louis almost rolled his eyes, but not quite. “What’s it about, then?”

“You feeling sorry for yourself. Because you had it right and you lost it.”

Louis’ eyebrows pinched together as he pushed himself up from a slouch. “What the fuck, man?”

“Hold on. Listen.” Zayn raised his hand to calm him. “I feel sorry for myself too, dude. I fucked up my last relationship and it makes me feel like I’ll never get it right. You already did.”

Liam looked between them, slightly confused. “I hope you guys are talking about Harry because that last guy you dated was a total prick,” he said.

“Yeah, well, Harry didn’t turn out to be much different,” Louis claimed, though his statement fell flat when not even he could believe his own words. 

Zayn scoffed. “That’s such horse shit.” 

“Why are we even talking about this? We were having a good time.”

“You know what? You’re right. It’s none of my business.” Zayn stood up briskly, snatching a pack of cigarettes off the table. He didn’t know whose they were, nor did he care. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

“You can smoke in here,” Louis said flatly. That’s what they’d been doing all day.

“It smells like weed and stale pizza in here. I need some fresh air.”

Until he heard the door close, Louis forgot they still had the movie on. He stood from his chair and pushed it to the side so he could steal the spot Zayn abandoned instead. The cushions were slipping out of the couch, so he had to shove them back in before he fell into the middle of them.

“What’s up his ass?” Louis asked, rolling his head to face Liam.

Liam pushed himself off the ground only to plop back down next to Louis, holding his Surge higher so it didn’t spill. “He’s going through it, man. You know what it’s like. A year is a long time to be with someone. He feels like shit.”

“What does that have to do with me? Why bring my dumb decisions into it?”

“You still haven’t called him back, have you?”

“Again, why are we bringing my dumb decisions into it?” Louis tried to joke, but his laugh was forced. The way they were sitting had their heads almost leaning against each other, but looking in opposite directions.

“You know you’ll see him at the wedding.”

“He’s gonna be standing behind Niall at that goddamn alter.”

“He’s probably gonna look _hot_ in a suit.”

Louis instinctively hit Liam in the arm with the back of his hand. “Shut up,” he laughed.

From the kitchen, they heard the patio door slide open with Zayn’s return. It wasn’t quite long enough for a whole cigarette, but it was also pretty chilly outside. He must’ve given up early.

“Are you going to talk to him there?” Liam continued, keeping his voice quiet even though sound bounced off these walls like a trampoline.

“No. I’m not doing anything that might make a scene.”

When Zayn walked back into the living room, he looked determined. His mouth was in a flat line, but his eyes were glued right to the couch where the two of them were sitting. Louis watched him as he got closer, lifting his head to keep looking at him until he was standing right above him. Then he realized Zayn was handing him an envelope that had been folded in half.

“I saw Harry last month,” Zayn said. “We were visiting home at the same time. We met for lunch. He asked me to give you this.”

Louis took the envelope carefully. There was nothing written on the outside, but it was still sealed.

“Why did you hold onto it for so long?”

“He told me it was up to me if I wanted to give it to you. He said that if you were doing better without him, then I should just burn it. But I’m looking at you now and I know you’re not upset about the prick you dumped two months ago. You haven’t let Harry go, and you’re not better without him. So you can read it if you want, or you can be the one who burns it. Up to you.”

He felt a hard thud in his chest. The envelope was so thin that he could see that the note was handwritten.

Liam was looking over Louis' shoulder, but Zayn said his name to get his attention. “I never had my smoke. Come join me,” he said.

Louis shifted his weight away from him so that Liam could stand up clumsily, following Zayn back out the door.

Without thinking twice, Louis tore into the envelope. His face felt flush, his hands shaky. He recognized the handwriting right away. It was the same writing he found on so many hotel notepads from Harry’s morning jogs, after which he always brought back two cups of coffee, one prepared exactly how Louis liked. 

Carefully, Louis read over every word.

_L,_

_I have a few things to get off my chest._

_I don’t know when else we’ll be in the same room again, but I know we’ll both be at the wedding. The cottage has a balcony on the top floor. I’ll be there at 8 pm._

_This is my last move. I hope you’ll consider it._

_H._

Louis looked back up, focusing his eyes on the party below him. Most of the reception was being held inside the cottage, but it was leaking out onto the patio that was decorated with fairy lights strung across the trees. Something by Sheryl Crow was playing from the DJ booth, and it was loud enough that Louis could hear it clear as day from way up on the balcony.

He crumpled the note in his hand and stuffed it back in his pants pocket. It had been years since the last time he had to wear a proper suit. This one was a silky dark blue, and he had a white dress shirt underneath. No tie—no one could make him go that far. 

Louis turned to face the railing where the second half of his gin and tonic was sitting. He lifted it, tilting around the ice cubes to make them rattle against the glass. One hand was in his pocket, still clutching the note as he watched Niall walk onto the patio to greet a group of his friends, arms open wide. One of them looked to be Liam. They pulled him in tight and patted him roughly on the back while whooping their congratulations. The bride and groom’s version of a small wedding was still nearly two-hundred people, so between cocktail hour and dinner being served, the two of them had quite the task of making rounds. Louis listened as they asked Niall where the beautiful bride was and offered him another drink. Somehow, Niall was running empty, so one of them poured some champagne from the bottle he was carrying around into the glass that looked to previously contain beer. They laughed loudly together, and just hearing the sound made Louis smile.

The ceremony that afternoon was beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shimmering as the band played the Bridal Chorus. Everyone in the room arose, watching with teary smiles as Niall’s bride practically floated down the aisle. Niall already had his handkerchief out, dabbing his eyes as he stared at her in disbelief. She absolutely lit up the room.

But Louis' head had twisted sheepishly to one side, where he could see Zayn next to him in the corner of his eye. If he lifted his gaze a little more, the groomsmen came into view. And there was Harry, tall and preened in his black suit and bowtie. The suit jacket Niall was wearing was white to contrast the others. Louis was glad that he had to wear sunglasses because he couldn’t help but stare at the way the jacket hugged Harry’s waist, and how his hair, now a few inches shorter than the last time they saw each other, was meticulously placed so each curl had somewhere to go. His jaw stiffened and loosened twice. Was he chewing gum? Of course he was. He had a chewing gum addiction. All tour, he had to be reminded to spit it out before he went on stage. People who had jawlines that sharp shouldn’t be allowed to chew gum. It was a dangerous distraction.

The sunglasses mustn't have been as inconspicuous as Louis thought because he watched Harry’s head slowly turn towards him. Suddenly the grass below his feet seemed incredibly interesting. He wondered if his red-hot cheeks were too obvious.

Throughout the reception, Louis managed to keep his distance. Their tables were on opposite sides of the room, and he wanted to thank Niall for that, but it didn’t matter so much when everyone had abandoned their seats to drink and dance. Louis had to keep one eye on Harry as much as he could, far between blurred bodies, just to make sure they didn’t find themselves accidentally mingling in the same group. But at 7:55, Harry was completely out of sight and the note was burning next to Louis’ thigh. 

With a nervous lump in his throat, Louis touched Zayn’s shoulder to quietly excuse himself to the bathroom. Instead, he searched for the staircase. He never told Zayn what that note said. If he was going to have this conversation, it was going to be between him and Harry only. No other opinions required.

Under the sunset, Louis checked his watch. It was 8:06. Harry still hadn't shown.

He took another sip.

“You’re here.”

Louis spun around, gulping hard as his eyebrows shot up. Harry was standing close to the doorway, enough that the light from inside made him appear as a silhouette. Just as when he was standing up there at the altar, next to his closest friend, Harry looked absolutely radiant. 

The lump in Louis’ throat wasn’t allowing him to speak and his feet felt glued to the floor. Harry stepped closer with hesitance, then stopped next to him, resting one arm on the railing as his eyes looked Louis up and down. A gentle smile on his lips. 

“You look good,” Harry said, a twinkle in his eye. Louis wasn’t as prepared to see him this close, in the flesh, as he previously thought.

Louis was expecting anger to swoop in the moment he looked into Harry’s eyes. He thought that he’d be standing here with his arms crossed over his chest, gritting his teeth as he listened to what Harry had to say. Not a word of it would be able to take away how hurt he felt that night they so suddenly called it quits. 

But instead, Louis’ shoulders softened and his eyebrows arched. Harry looked attractive, yes, but he wouldn’t say good. There was longing behind his shadowy eyes. A sadness that Louis felt in his gut because sometimes you miss people who hurt you, no matter how much you wish you could forget.

Just looking at him, Louis didn’t have anything to say. But he felt himself jolt forward as his arms wrapped around Harry. The embrace surprised Harry, but just as they always had with each other, he fell into it. His nose tucked into Louis’ shoulder, and his arms squeezed his torso. Louis realized how much he missed Harry’s warmth.

When he finally let Harry go, his arms falling slowly from his neck, Louis said, “I’m sorry, I had to do that. We have so much to talk about, of course, but…”

“I missed you so much,” Harry said.

Carefully, Louis took a half step back. “It was weird,” he admitted, “going that long without seeing you. I didn’t—”

“We did this wrong.”

“Yeah,” Louis let out a humourless laugh. “We completely blew it.”

“I called,” Harry began.

“I know. I got the message.”

“You didn’t call back.”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to speak to me while sober.”

Harry gazed shamefully at his shoes. Perhaps Louis was being too forward with something that was none of his business, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice.

“I hit a downward spiral,” Harry admitted. “But that’s not—I got a hold of it. I got help and I’m taking a little break from, you know, mind-numbing substances. Feeling something is better than nothing at all.”

“Is it?” Louis tilted his head. Many times in his life, he felt the bottom of a bottle was the much better choice than a mind clouded with dark thoughts.

“If you can’t feel the bad feelings, how are you supposed to fix them?”

In this case, he supposed Harry was right. Louis nodded along, scratching the end of his nose just to do something. “Was it rehab?”

“No, no. Therapy. A lot of therapy. I should’ve started going years ago, but it’s been really good for me, I think.”

“That’s great, H. Really.”

Louis took a deep breath, having trouble keeping eye contact when he knew Harry was watching his every move.

“Your note said you had something to get off your chest. I assume you prepared some sort of speech?”

Harry laughed, but Louis wasn’t sure if he was joking. If Harry wanted to talk, he was here to listen. Until he knew what Harry had to say, Louis still wasn’t sure where he stood. He never moved on, only searched for dirt trails that brought him right back to the main path.

“I thought about it,” Harry said.

“Thought about what?”

“What else? I thought about what I wanted. What I’m ready for.”

Louis’ lips parted. He _couldn’t_ be serious. 

“Harry, you know that’s not what this was. If you were thinking about it, you would’ve called me in a week. Hell, I would’ve still picked up the phone if you called in a month. But ten months, Harry? _Ten_? That’s not thinking. You made your decision.”

“You could’ve called—”

“No.” He was shaking his head with a pouted lip. Another step back. “You knew what I wanted. The decision was in your hands.”

“How was I supposed to know that? You made it seem pretty goddamn final when I wasn’t as eager as you to risk everything. I wanted to be with you Louis, but _god_ I just needed to wrap my mind around it.”

“And now you have? Ten months later, you have?”

“It’s different now.”

“What’s different?”

Harry stopped for a breath. He turned his head just to get a moment’s break from the heat of their conversation. The DJ was still playing exciting, celebratory songs. For them, right now, it didn’t match.

“Smudge is taking a little break.”

Louis filtered the words. “What does that mean? What kind of break?”

“It felt like the right time to take a step back and, you know, do our own thing. We have an album on the back burner for when we want to get together again, but for now, we need a little breather.”

That made sense, Louis supposed. So much had changed in the last year. For all of them. Q and Bex were living an altered reality—one that they finally felt free in. It wasn’t a drastic change—not in the grand scheme of things—but it changed them for the better. Niall was starting a whole new life, and soon he’d have a family and all the things that went with it. And Harry… he needed the chance to figure out who he was once the curtain was drawn. He started out at eighteen without a damn clue how to realize who he actually was. There never was a line between the way the world saw him and the way he saw himself because that’s all he ever knew.

Maybe he did need ten months. 

“You haven’t played a show since D.C.,” Louis pointed out.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded firmly. “If that’s the last show we ever do, I think it was a damn good way to go.”

Louis smiled timidly. “I talked to them at dinner. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen them.”

“Q asked me if I could be the maid of honour at their wedding, whenever that happens.”

“Maid of honour? Is that how it works?” Louis laughed.

Harry smiled at the ground. “I dunno, but I said I would. As soon as it’s legal, they’re going to do it. Until then, they’re fighting for it.”

Another beat of silence. They kept flip-flopping here. Once things got too heated, too real, they fell back to comfortable conversation. But this couldn’t happen without an argument. Not that Louis wanted to fight, but he was still angry. He felt like he was shoved into a room with no light, only able to hear echoes of what was going on outside the door. Louis wasn’t innocent here either, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve all the blame. It would take some time before they could move forward from this. An apology would be a good start.

“So what’s the punchline, here? Because I can’t imagine you asked me to meet you just to tell me you’re taking a break from music.”

Harry straightened his back. “How have you been?”

“You’re dancing around this.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Louis swallowed hard. “Not at the moment. I was, though. Nothing serious.”

“Do I know him?” The words were tinged with jealousy.

“Would it matter? It ended months ago.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

Louis took a slow sip. He wanted to chug the rest of his drink but resisted the urge. Was this a bad idea? Did he even want to hear Harry out after all this time? After all the chances he had?

“I wrote you a hundred letters that I didn’t send.”

“Harry—”

“I called you in December. I was ready to talk then. It didn’t take me ten months to decide. It took us ten months to get our shit together. Both of us. Please, Louis, don’t put all of this on me. I’m not saying I did nothing wrong, but I tried to reach out and you weren’t reaching back.”

Louis stepped away just so he could turn around. Fingers through his hair, hands on his hips. He couldn’t tell how he was feeling. Something about being here with Harry again gave him an overwhelming sense of… completion. Like he could finally take his heart off pause. 

But Harry still left without a word. And Louis never returned his call. 

“Honestly, Louis, I wasn’t sure you even wanted to hear from me. You were so angry when I said I didn’t know if I could do it because you were sure that you could. It felt final. But I’m—” Pause. A gulp. “I am sorry. I gave up too easily.”

This didn’t feel like an apology. If anything, it hurt to remember it all again. But Louis was listening, and he wanted so much to hold Harry again.

“I don’t care about my career more than you,” Harry said.

Louis’ eyes fell closed. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

He remembered what he said, word for word. He remembered how bitter it tasted coming out of his mouth.

“I was too hard on you,” Louis admitted, leaning back against the wall next to the door. “And I am sorry for that. But before that night, I always thought we were on the same page.”

“We were—”

“We weren’t, Harry!” The outburst was unexpected. Louis tried to retreat from it. “We weren’t. That was why you left. You weren’t ready for something that I already put all my hope into.”

“I was stupid.”

“It doesn’t take this long to realize that. Just stop making excuses. I’m not here to talk excuses, okay? I pressured you. You left. It happened. I just want to know what we’re both thinking now.”

“Then _listen_ to me! Stop telling me how I feel! You don’t know what I was thinking then and you sure as hell don’t know now.”

“Fucking _tell me_ , then!”

With a slow breath, Harry squinted, his head bowed.

“I panicked,” Harry shrugged, his shoulders stilling by his ears. “I completely shut down. At the time, I thought I was making the right decision for both of us. When I left, it was because I knew you could convince me if I stayed any longer. I didn’t want to be convinced.”

Louis was squeezing his eyes tight, shaking his head.

“But that’s not— I care about you so much, Lou. I—” He paused and Louis knew what was coming. He felt his stomach flip before he even heard the words. “I love you. I did then and I do now.”

Louis breathed sharply through his nose, letting it come back out in a strong stream. He lifted himself off the wall, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes before bringing his palms together. His next words were careful and considered. 

“In the days and weeks—hell, months—afterwards, I kept thinking about why you couldn’t do it. I always boiled it down to thinking I loved you more than you loved me. So if that wasn’t what you wanted, I wasn’t going to pressure you any more than I already had. I was upset, of course, but I never wanted you to be miserable because of something you weren’t ready for. Not for a second. But that’s not how I expressed it. I just pushed you away.”

Harry dropped his head back, his eyes closed as his chin pointed to the sky. “Yeah,” he mumbled. 

There was a painful truth to his agreement. To know that it really did hurt him as much as Louis imagined.

Louis started to feel a tinge of guilt in his chest. All those days he spent convincing himself he was happy with someone new. Pushing thoughts of Harry out of his mind. Getting so close to truly moving on that the thoughts came less often. Only at night, when his mind began to wander. After so long, it didn’t feel worth it to dwell. But as soon as the distraction was gone, the thoughts came flooding back. There was a message on his answering machine, but Louis had gotten it into his mind that he was too late. That he missed his chance. 

But here it was.

Louis stopped in front of Harry, barely an arm’s length away. His glass was next to his shoulder again. The ice was almost completely melted.

“If I asked you again, what would you have said?” Louis looked at him, taking another slow step forward. “Put yourself back there. Shep and Lori just told you a slew of bullshit about how homophobic the world is. I’m sitting behind you on the bed while you take off your shoes. I just told you I want to be with you no matter what. That I’m willing to risk it. What do you say?”

Harry lifted his hands, palms up, ready for Louis to take them. He did. Louis brushed his thumb across Harry’s knuckles and remembered what it was like when they’d lay in bed, the lights off as they faced each other, only their fingers intertwined.

“I’d say that I’d give it all up for you.”

Louis turned away, a breathy laugh through his nose.

“I mean it,” Harry squeezed his hands. Louis was shaking his head.

“I’d make sure you’d never have to. You deserve to have both.”

“I’ve already had both. Louis, I’m all in. There’s no more thinking. If this is still what you want, I want it just as bad.”

Louis did. He wanted this so bad, but… Where they were… Going from months of silence to jumping right in. It felt so sudden. Starting again just as fast as they ended. With only one conversation. This was something they’d have to work on no matter how they approached it. But if they loved each other as much as they thought, they’d make it work.

He looked into Harry’s eyes, feeling the heat of his gaze right down to his chest.

“Come back to Oregon with me.”

### 2019

“For two weeks,” Louis said. “That’s what I suggested. If we could make it through two weeks together, all alone in one house, saying everything we wish we said sooner, we’d know it was worth the fight.”

“Did you make it two weeks?” Penny asked.

“We did,” he nodded, a bright smile. “We made it twenty-three years.”

The dogs began barking wildly upstairs. Penny looked at Louis to see if he needed to stop and check what was going on. Calmly, he stood from the piano.

“More tea?” he asked.

“Caffeine must run through your veins constantly,” she joked, collecting her notebook and phone off the music stand.

She followed him up the carpeted stairs, back from the dark basement to the brightly lit main floor. When they reached the top, Penny began to hear more voices. Louis tucked his hands into his pockets as they strolled towards the kitchen.

“I didn’t think they’d be home so soon,” he said over his shoulder.

The kitchen looked awfully crowded now. Two children sat at the table, a little girl, maybe six, with rosy cheeks and curly hair tied up high. The boy looked slightly older, freckles on his button nose and long hair falling into his hazel eyes. They still had their shoes and jackets on as they licked soft serve off a cone.

“Hi Papa!” the girl called happily, a ring of ice cream around her mouth.

Louis walked over to give them both a kiss on the head and a tight squeeze. “Did you have a good week at Grandma’s?”

“Mmhmm,” the boy said, not looking up from his cone. Louis wrapped his hand around him to swipe his finger across his cone, then stick it in his mouth. “Hey!” the boy whined, but Louis just gave him a wide-eyed grin in return.

The fridge door was open, but as it closed, it revealed a red-headed teenage girl on the other side, wearing leggings and sweatshirt that looked like it could’ve come from Louis’ closet. “Hey, Pop,” she said, carrying a carton of orange juice to the counter where a glass and two plastic kids’ cups were resting.

“Hi, darling.” He kissed her cheek. “How was the flight?”

“Quick,” she said. “Wouldn’t have been much longer if you let me drive.”

“Is that so?” he laughed sarcastically. “You’ve had your license for two months. I don’t see a cross-state road trip in your near future.”

She rolled her eyes in the way teenagers do best.

“Celia, this is my friend, Penny.” Louis gestured for her to come forward from the doorway she was standing in. Penny almost forgot she was still in the room and not just watching from afar, but quickly stepped closer to shake Celia’s hand. “She’s the one doing the interview for the book.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Penny said.

“You too,” Celia replied kindly. She had her father’s smile.

Louis stretched his neck to look around the corner. “Where’s Dad?” he asked.

But just as the question came out, there was a commotion near the front door. Louis gestured for Penny to keep following him.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry, kids! Dad can carry four suitcases alone!”

The four suitcases were toppled over on the floor of the living room now, and standing between them all was Harry.

“Hello, my love,” Louis said, greeting him in the middle of the room with a kiss.

“Good to see you, hon,” Harry replied, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

Penny noticed, now more than ever, the bright silver ring on Louis’ wedding finger.

When they let go, Louis said between gritted teeth, “Did you really get them ice cream right before dinner?”

“I can’t be the cool dad and _not_ get them ice cream on the way home from the airport,” Harry joked.

Louis kissed him again through his smile, and then quickly remembered who was standing behind them.

“You must be Penny,” Harry said before Louis had the chance to introduce them. “I’m not sure you remember, but we’ve met before. You interviewed me once, probably fifteen years ago.”

 _If_ she remembered? How could she be the one to forget? If anything, his memory shocked her.

“Of course I do! It’s nice to see you again. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Harry insisted, stepping forward to shake her hand properly. “I hope the interview went well. I’m looking forward to talking with you next week.”

“Me too,” Penny said brightly. She’d like to say she’d gotten over being starstruck by the famous people she’d be interviewing years ago, but there was something deeply captivating about being in the same room as these two. “I really appreciate you agreeing to it.”

“At the beginning, he wanted me to tell the whole thing,” Louis said to her, holding Harry at his side by his waist. “Once he got word that his schedule freed up, I convinced him to tell his side, as well.”

“I’m excited to hear it,” Penny said.

“I am sorry I couldn’t meet with you sooner,” Harry frowned, but Penny was already waving away his comment. “The show is on a limited run, so the schedule is super condensed. Any time off at all, I’m usually back home. Like now. I have to be back on a plane to New York tomorrow morning.”

“You fly home every week?” Penny didn’t hide her surprise.

“Every Monday morning for the last three months. We spend the rest of the day together, drive the kids to school Tuesday morning, then it’s back to the airport. Trust me, I love working on the show, but I don’t think I’ll be doing this again until our youngest is off to college,” he laughed, letting Louis go from his side. 

Harry excused himself to the kitchen so he could get the kids to bring their bags to their bedrooms. Penny had only known him for about a minute, but Harry already seemed like the type of parent whose strictness was just an act. The kids were well behaved, but he was absolutely the bigger pushover.

“I’m really sorry our interview got interrupted,” Louis said, turning to Penny once Harry had left. “Honestly, though, there wasn’t much left to say. What you’re looking at, I mean, this is the end.” He gestured around the living room.

Penny took another look at it, her eyes surveying the walls. Framed abstract art hung on most of the walls, but below was what reminded her of her own home. Picture frames full of children, baby photos, first days of school. Above one of the armchairs, arranged in a vertical fashion, they had three of those unfinished circular photos that showed each year of school, with a blank spot in the middle for graduation. 

Her eyes landed on the centre of a bookshelf next to the TV. It was a photo that must’ve been taken from a disposable camera in the early two-thousands. About 2003, if she was doing her math right, because it looked to be just weeks after Celia was born. She was laying on a baby blanket on the floor, her dads on either side of her, stretched out on their sides. Louis’ ear was to the ground as he reached a finger out to tickle under her chin. Harry was watching on, a tender smile on his face as his fist held up his head. In his eyes, it looked like he had just realized his life was nearly complete. He was staring at his whole world.

“You got a happily ever after,” Penny said, though she heard how cheesy it sounded as soon as the words came out.

Louis let out a breath of laughter. “I guess you could say that, yeah. Honestly, my life now versus what I’ve been telling you—it’s felt like a one-eighty. We started our family sixteen years ago and it still feels crazy that all this responsibility is suddenly mine. But I love it. This, right now, is the best part of my life. Talking with you about the past has been cathartic, in a way. Being in Fearless Doe, that was incredible. I loved that part of my life, but sometimes it’s hard to believe that was me. I was selfish and arrogant and angry in my twenties. I think I tricked myself into liking loneliness, and it made me feel even worse. Got some damn good songs out of it, though.”

Penny didn’t laugh until Louis did because she could still feel the sadness in his words. 

“Where I am now—who I became after all that—I couldn’t be happier.” Louis turned his head to the side. Through the archway, he could see Harry sitting at the table next to their son, laughing at something Celia said while she watched on from the counter she was perched on. The fact that she was sitting on the counter at all confirmed Penny’s suspicions of who the pushover parent was. 

Louis was smiling warmly, watching his family laugh together. “I have the best husband in the world and three kids who I adore more than anything. Reliving everything these last few days really reminded me how grateful I am.”

Penny’s smile grew from her chest. She knew how he felt. To start your life feeling like you’re living amongst chaos and find something that felt so beautifully perfect. No, she didn’t know the sold-out tours or having the press down her neck, but she knew the loneliness. She knew the confusion, the rejection, the hopelessness. Because everyone has to fight their way out of their own chaos to find a place in this world. Some fight with the universe, and some just inside their own minds. Others fall somewhere in between. 

Now that they had the view from the other side—all of them: Penny, Q, Bex, Louis, Harry—they understood what a beautiful victory it was.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Louis asked. “Celia and I barbeque some great hamburgers.”

“I couldn’t. You guys have your family time, it’s so important. But thank you.” 

Penny wasn’t expecting to be finished up this early. If she hurried, she might be able to catch an early flight and get home in time to have a glass of wine with her wife before bed. After last night’s FaceTime call with her boys from the hotel room, she was missing her family dearly. 

Louis didn’t argue, but the invitation stood if she changed her mind.

He walked Penny to the door, retrieving her jacket from the entryway closet as she made sure she had all her things. Shoes on, Louis followed her out the door.

“Thank you for coming to speak with me,” Louis said as they stood on the front porch. It smelled of fresh flowers from the baskets hanging around them. “I’ll actually be in New York with Harry when you interview him, so maybe I’ll see you again then.”

“Yeah? Big plans in New York?”

“Nah, just trying to get a little extra time together. Kids are spending the weekend with Auntie Gemma, so dads are spending the weekend in the city,” he explained. “I promise we don’t always ship them off to family members! It’s been a hectic few months.”

Penny just laughed. “I know what that’s like. Grandma and Grandpa are our number one babysitters.”

“Feel free to get a hold of me if you think of anything else. You have my number, anyway.”

“I do, yes. And thank _you_ ,” Penny insisted, already halfway down the steps. Her rental car was the closest one down the long driveway. “After finding out about Q and Bex’s lawsuit against Filter Records, I realized how many untold stories there must be from people who came out late in their careers. Having those two come on board for the idea really kickstarted the whole thing. Especially with how the lawsuit turned out.”

“It was Q and Bex who told me about you. That’s why I reached out. They’ve been spreading the word.” Louis crossed his arms casually and leaned against one of the wooden pillars. “There are more of these stories than you and I will ever know about. But this book, I mean— Queer entertainers sharing the love stories they had to keep a secret through the years. What a lovely idea.”

“I thought so.” Penny squinted from the sun. “If people like it, I think I want to do more. Find some interesting ordinary people. The world is full of stories like this.”

As he nodded, Louis said, “I’d read them all.”

Penny opened the passenger door to toss her bag in the car. She was about to turn to wave, but a thought hit her.

“What happened during those two weeks here? You never said.”

Louis looked a little flustered at the question, but he smiled nonetheless. 

“Harry tells it better.”


	3. Chapter 3

### 1996 and on...

Two weeks. 

That was the plan. Two weeks at the beginning of June, alone in a big house, the woods surrounding them, the sounds of the ocean crashing through every open window. 

Some days were cloudy and rainy, so they stuck some wood in the fireplace and made hot toddies and played rounds and rounds of Guess Who, Mouse Trap, and whatever other board game Louis found stuffed in one of the guest bedroom closets. They cuddled up under a blanket and made their way through Louis’ movie collection—yes, _Spice World_ included. They baked bread and muffins and cookies, laughing and kissing batter off each other’s cheeks. At least half of what came out of the oven was edible, but what they could eat never lasted long.

Other days were bright and beautiful, so they sat on the sandy beach with books in their laps and sunglasses on their noses. They went for walks through the woods and took pictures they’d forget about by the time they got them developed. In the evenings, they barbecued fish and roasted chicken and ate with the sunset over a glass of wine. Once, at night, they got daring and decided to go skinny dipping, then made love in the ocean underneath the stars.

And they talked. So much. About everything. Their hopes and dreams. Their fears. Everything they hoped for out of life and everything life had already given them. What they wanted from each other. What they didn’t want. No holding back.

It was more than two weeks. 

Eventually, Louis had to get back to work on the next Fearless Doe album. Luckily for him, his studio was two floors down from where they slept every night. 

He showed Harry every track and listened to every word of feedback he gave. Most of it was just praise, claiming that this would be Fearless Doe’s best album yet. Louis knew that couldn’t be true. Their second album was a global phenomenon and he knew he’d never be able to top that success. Musically, sonically, maybe this one was better, but he wasn’t trying to outdo anyone or anything. He was just trying to put out something he fell in love with.

That’s what he spent the next two months doing.

Falling in love.

Louis was producing the album himself this time around, so he called Zayn and Liam down for a couple of weeks so they could collaborate and record, then it was straight into mixing. Harry happily stayed, lounging around the studio or finding something to do around the house. He grew to love cooking. He got himself an easel and started painting on the back deck. Some of his work, they even hung around the house.

Seven months later, Harry moved in. It didn’t feel very official—Harry had only gone home twice since they began staying together. But seven months later was when he put his house in LA up for sale and bought a condo instead, just for when he was working in the city, which wasn’t often anymore. Louis had sold his LA home years ago, but he helped Harry pick the new place out, and was even given a key of his own.

Once the Oregon house was theirs instead of Louis’, they decided to do a bit of redecorating. Not much, but the couch in the living room with its sagging cushions had to go, as did the dining room table that was covered in stains from never having seen a table cloth. They got a new bed and some bedding that added a bit of colour to the room. 

Harry thought the place needed some more art, too, and not just the paintings he had done. He started by searching his storage unit for the piece he purchased on that day they spent together in Montmartre and giving it to Louis for their anniversary.

“What is it the anniversary of?” Louis asked as they lay in bed that morning. He still hadn’t gotten the shiny silver wrapping paper off.

“Nine months together,” Harry said, only slightly offended that Louis didn’t remember.

Louis stopped ripping at the paper and tilted his head. “What’s the date today?”

“January sixth.”

“Harry!” Louis laughed. “First of all, we haven’t been together a year yet, so this can’t technically be an anniversary.”

“That’s just something people who don’t like fun, romantic gestures say.”

“Secondly,” Louis continued anyway, “we cannot _steal_ Niall’s anniversary!”

Harry hadn’t even considered that. As selfish as it may have sounded, that day stood out in his mind for reasons far different from Niall getting married.

“He’ll never know,” Harry quickly reasoned.

“Why don’t we make it the day you flew up here to stay with me? I think it suits us better. We can have the week after them.”

Harry sighed, but ultimately agreed that a week later made much more sense. They had only made up at the wedding. Once they got together a week later, they were never apart.

“Does that mean you want to wait a week to open your present?”

“Absolutely not,” Louis said, then immediately tore the rest of the wrapping off.

He loved the gift. He remembered where it was from right away, and how special that day ended up being. It was the day Louis realized he was going to end up falling for Harry whether he liked it or not. Luckily, he liked it very much.

They kissed and made love in their bed. In their house. Where, six years later, they would be starting their family.

But there were a few things to take care of, first.

Fearless Doe released their final album at the end of 1996. They did a short major city tour in the spring of ‘97, but decided, together, that they felt the band had run its course. Ten years together wasn’t too bad. It felt like quite the accomplishment, actually. A whole decade of music that would likely outlast them. They could only hope to compare to the greats before them, but they gave their all and played their part. It was time for a final bow.

Q and Bex recorded their first album as a duo and released it at the end of that same year to moderate success, but that was only the beginning. Pop-punk eventually took over in the early ‘00s, and that was exactly the path they were headed down. Smudge’s final album came out in the fall of ‘99, but there was no accompanying tour. The last year of the Millenium marked a whole decade of the band’s career. Following in Fearless Doe’s footsteps, as they often did, they decided ten years felt kind of perfect. Though Smudge hadn’t played together in three years, that last album was a thank you and a goodbye to the fans whom they loved so dearly, even if they lost some along the way.

In 2000, Liam finally married his longtime girlfriend, and later that year, he and Niall started a band of their own called Handsfree with some of their session musician friends who wanted to shake things up a bit. Niall even swapped the drums for a guitar, which he always claimed was the instrument he was best at, anyway. Handsfree had been making music on and off through the years, taking breaks for major life events—like the children who were soon to come.

Zayn released a solo album that same year, but he quickly realized he felt more comfortable in the studio than anywhere else. He loved mixing and producing, something he’d been doing on his own, alongside Fearless Doe, years before the band called it quits. Now that he had so much more artistic freedom, he dove right in. He wrote for himself at first, but soon he was bouncing around LA making tracks for some of the biggest names in the business. As a producer, his name was on the number one track of some chart every other year.

Around 2001, Louis decided to put out a solo EP just to test the waters, but he wasn’t ready to jump back in just yet. It didn’t feel right. No authenticity. But he also felt like he’d gone too long without steady work. He was still writing, Harry too, and they had started working with Q and Bex through the charity they had founded for LGBT+ youth and young adults. They had gone off on other pursuits, like Harry’s attempt at writing a novel that he told almost no one about. 

And then, that summer, they decided to come out.

It wasn’t as shocking as tabloids made it seem. Once there were no record deals to maintain, no tours to look forward to, they stopped making an effort to hide anything. Since they had already stepped away from the spotlight—if only temporarily—interviews and appearances were scarce. Rumours that they were both living in Oregon floated around, and when they got papped walking to lunch together one of the few weeks they had to work in LA, it only fueled them. So eventually, they decided to talk about it on their own terms. Lori, Harry’s longtime manager who stuck with him through the disbandment, got them a _Time Magazine_ cover. A cover wasn’t really what they were looking for—all they needed was the interview—but as soon as the editors got wind of the story, they pounced.

Whether they liked it or not, things still were the way they were. 

But the cover truly was a good time. They spoke to the interviewer over dinner and told only what they wanted to tell, their story a little fabricated but not wholly. What they said was that after the tour, they rekindled their friendship and eventually realized their feelings for one another. For the most part, the questions were kind and considerate, but when they were asked about families, Louis took it over, claiming that his mother was the most supportive person he knew, aside from Harry. Then he pushed the questioning along, changing the subject to why they decided to stay in Oregon. 

Harry never spoke much of or to his parents, though he and his sister were closer than ever. They had met Louis once at a family dinner—no holidays since he wasn’t quite comfortable with that yet. In the most shallow sense of the word, they were accepting—in that, they could accept where Harry’s life was. They were kind to Louis’ face, but they weren’t happy to see who Harry was bringing home.

Ten years would pass before they spent a Christmas together. But that day did come, and Harry’s mother hugged them both and his father shook their hands. They wanted to meet their grandchild, and Harry was willing to give them that. At the very least, progress was being made.

When the story came out in 2001, Harry and Louis did just as Q and Bex did—they shut themselves in. Let the storm blow over for the first little while. At the time, coming out in the spotlight was shocking, much more so than it became in the social media generations. It was still a big deal, but the reasons were changing. There were articles, gossip, past stories that fell under the radar being dug up. They were slandered and they were celebrated. But they didn’t want to hear any of it. Eventually, it died down and they felt comfortable stepping out from the shadows once more.

The year progressed slowly, with more music being put out from a few of their friends, but nothing revolutionary happening with Harry and Louis. In 2002, Niall’s first child was born—a daughter. He and his wife were unsure they wanted kids for years, but eventually, they decided to settle down with a family. Holding that baby in his arms, Louis realized how much he would like to be a father one day. He knew he would be good at it, too. Always loved kids. Later that year, they were interviewing surrogates and narrowing down who they felt would be the best fit. In 2003, Celia was born.

Parenting came before everything after that. Suddenly, they had the impossible task of making the world perfect for their little one. Every phase felt special and beautiful. First steps, first words, first trip to the zoo, first time on an airplane to visit Grandma, first visit to the ER because Celia slipped on a step on the front porch when it was raining. She cried her eyes out, but it was only a scratch on her forehead. The doctor sent them home with an assurance that she did not have a concussion and that they were doing a fantastic job as parents. Seeing the worry in their eyes, that doctor knew they must’ve needed it.

Being home so much with his family, Harry eventually got to work on music again. He wrote and sang and recorded everything, all by himself. Eventually, he pieced together an album and licenced it to a new label, somewhat accidentally kick-starting his solo career. He did a summer theatre tour and brought the whole family along since he didn’t want to miss out on any part of his daughter growing into a little kid. Being on the road again was strange without Smudge, even though he still had a backing band. But he felt refreshed and ready, and he missed the crowd as much as they missed him. That spark he had as soon as he stepped on stage never left.

Even the glitter made a reappearance.

Come September, it was time for another first. Harry and Louis were far more nervous about Celia’s first day of school than she was. Louis packed her lunchbox and Harry helped her pick out her favourite dress since she was a little girl who loved to twirl. They walked her out to the top of the driveway where the bus would pick her up, then they kissed her head and sent her off with teary waves. Five years had gone by far too fast.

As Harry fell back in love with music, their family fell into a routine. During the school year, Celia learned and grew, Louis continued his charity work and began his plans to start a small record label of his own, and Harry wrote his next album. Over the summer, the whole family went on a short seven-week tour. Next year, same thing, where they showed Celia the world before she hit double digits. One summer, Harry took a break that turned into him landing the supporting role in a romcom. His character was the comic-relief-best-friend for the film’s lead, and he surprised the world by how natural he was at comedy. But he had his taste in front of the camera and that was enough.

At the same time, Louis finally got his label up and running in Portland. He had two acts signed: a post-punk band of guys straight out of high school, and a young girl he discovered playing her guitar at an open mic while he was out with some friends one weekend. Louis could spot the talent from both acts from a mile away. He could feel their passion and see their authenticity as soon as they began to play. The goal was never to make anyone ridiculously famous. He wanted to help good people put good music into the world, and hope they got to live out their dream. They were off to a good start.

In 2012, Washington became the seventh state to legalize gay marriage, three years before the entire country would recognize marriage equality. The news broke on an early morning in February. Louis, adamant to never give in to social media, found out in the morning paper.

“I assume you’ve heard,” Harry said when he walked into the kitchen that morning wearing a baggy shirt and sweats, sniffling his nose since he was getting over the tail end of a cold.

Louis glanced over his mug of coffee. He made it for himself this morning. It was never as good as the coffee Harry made, but he needed his rest. 

“You assume I’ve heard what?”

“My ring wasn’t on my bedside table this morning.”

“Really? Did that make the news?”

Louis thought he was doing a good job covering his smile, but Harry wasn’t buying it.

Years ago, they traded rings on their fifth anniversary. Not in front of family or anything fancy, just a quiet promise between one another because they knew by then they were in it for life. They wanted everything together. That was all a marriage needed to be.

“Are you going to make me wait around all day wondering?” Harry asked, smiling as he sat back in his chair. There was already a mug of coffee waiting for him. Louis poured it when he heard him get up.

“Wait for what?”

From down the hallway, they heard the quick padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor. Celia stopped in front of them wearing a bright pink fairy dress and holding an Easter basket out in front of her. With a wide grin, she stuck her hand in and pulled out a fist full of flower petals, tossing them towards her dads but largely missing.

“Not yet!” Louis said through a laugh.

“I thought you said to do it when Daddy woke up?”

“But I haven’t asked him yet.”

“I didn’t think I was going to have to wait so long,” she huffed, pulling out a chair of her own to climb into.

Harry was shaking his head, a loving smile as he shifted his eyes from their daughter to Louis. The two people he loved most in this world. The two people he would give absolutely anything for. There was a flower petal still in Louis’ hair, so he reached forward to pull it out.

“Marry me,” Harry said, a slow, casual tone to his voice.

Louis raised his eyebrows. “You can’t beat me to it. You don’t have the rings.”

Harry turned sideways to face him, putting down his mug so he could take both of Louis’ hands in his. His ears were plugged and his nose felt snotty. There was a gentle rain outside, just spitting. The kitchen smelled like coffee and Celia’s instant oatmeal.

“I don’t care about the rings. You’ve been my husband for ten years. You’re one of the best things that has ever happened to me. The other one is sitting right there. I can’t imagine a world where we never found each other. I never want to. And now we live in a world where we can get married.” Harry paused, looking up in thought. “Well, legally, even though we agreed—”

“Marry me,” Louis said with a dizzy smile.

Harry eyed him playfully. “You just wanted to say it, too.”

“Well, you took the speech. Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Harry squeezed his hands. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Louis lifted a hip, releasing his right hand from grip so he could pull the ring from his pocket. The one he stole off Harry’s bedside table. Now that Harry’s left hand was free, Louis could slide it right back where it belonged.

They sealed their agreement with a kiss, which made Celia let out an audible, “Ew!” because no nine-year-old likes to see their parents kissing. But when they opened their eyes, she had another fistful of flower petals ready to throw into the air. Their beauty rained down on all three of them, and Celia ran into her parents’ arms for a hug. It was the best congratulations they could’ve asked for.

They married that spring back home in Louis’ mom’s backyard, a small ceremony amongst the flower garden, family and some friends in attendance only. For the reception, they hosted a barbecue like it was a regular old family dinner, just with fifty people instead of ten or so. They used their same rings, and the same flower girl, and they were sure it was the most happiness they had ever felt in one room.

One summer later, just after Celia turned ten, her little brother was brought into the family. Another two years later, they had a second little girl. 

Harry’s music career was put on pause, but he was thrilled to do so. Their family had gotten bigger than they could have imagined when they first realized they were it for each other. And when it came to the simple things like sitting together at dinner, the kids on either side of them, sloppily eating their food and theatrically telling their attentive dads about their days at school, Harry and Louis met eyes across the table. They smiled, their hearts overflowing with love. 

These were their lives. They couldn’t believe these were their lives. 

It was at night when it hit them the most. When they were lying next to each other long after the kids had gone to sleep, or maybe just a few moments after they tucked them into their beds, barely able to keep their own eyes open. When they could finally see each other and how they’d changed. More wrinkles by the eyes, a few stray grey hairs, deep, wonderful smile lines. Because, just as they watched their kids grow from babies to rambunctious children, they watched each other grow into their responsibility, their patience, kindness, and compassion. 

And every single night, just before they drifted off to sleep, they would fall so effortlessly, so hopelessly, so completely in love with each other all over again. Right in each other's arms, just as they’d always wound up.

In 2016, shortly after the legalization of gay marriage across all fifty states, Q and Bex filed a lawsuit against Filter Records for mistreatment during their time under the label. With the years of evidence they had about contract breaches and negligent misrepresentation, they thought they had a strong case. It took three years of battling in and out of court, but in 2019, just a week before Harry was about to leave for New York, he got a text from Q.

“They won.”

Louis looked up from the counter where he was chopping up potatoes to roast with dinner. “What?”

Harry turned away from the stove, spatula in one hand and phone in the other.

“Q and Bex. They won the lawsuit.”

Louis froze, his eyes growing wide. “How do you know?”

Harry handed Louis his phone so he could see the text. Q made sure to include every detail, including how much they would be getting. The number had a lot of zeros.

“Oh my god,” Louis laughed in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“They’re donating all of it,” Harry told him. “That’s what Bex said at the start of all this, right?”

“Yeah… Wow, I’m— I’m so happy for them,” Louis said, unsure what else he could say. Nothing felt grand enough for how big his heart felt. Quite honestly, the odds were stacked against them the moment the case began. They were going against one of the biggest labels in the music industry, and somehow they won. 

Harry exhaled in disbelief. “They really deserve it,” he said.

Louis nodded, lips pressed together, his eyes staring down. They became glossy as he brought his hand to the left side of his chest and patted it a few times. Harry stepped across the kitchen, pulling him into a tight embrace. They just needed to hold each other. To feel this moment together.

Into Harry’s shoulder, Louis whispered, “I kinda feel like we won, too.”

~

In September of 2021, Penny’s book was set to release. With the amount of press around it already, it was projected to be a best-seller, possibly number one. She had spent the month prior doing interviews and preparing for her multi-city tour of the US and Canada. Without a doubt, this was her biggest release yet. Q and Bex, who she had become friendly with during the three years it took to piece the book together, even threw her a launch party, complete with champagne and a three-tier rainbow cake. That day, she allowed herself to feel the immense pride she had for all the work she had done. She knew she deserved it.

Penny felt like she was on a career high. Maybe a life high was a better phrase. She and her wife had just celebrated their fifteen-year anniversary, their sons were about to start middle school, and she had spent the months leading up to Christmas watching her book rise to the top of the New York Times Bestseller list, where it was currently on its eighth week. She had made the list before, but never for this long, and never for a book that got the country talking.

As Christmas crept around the corner, Penny enjoyed her time home in Colorado, feeling more loved and fulfilled than she had since the birth of her boys. She baked with her father, shopped for presents with her sister, and took the boys skiing the weekend before Christmas day. 

Ever since the book came out, Penny had gotten almost daily phone calls. Many were from those whom she featured, thanking her for giving their story a platform, which she always returned with a thank you of her own. Sometimes they would make plans to go for dinner and catch up, others promised to stay in touch. Meeting these people and getting to hear them speak about their lives and their love was truly the most rewarding part of writing the book. Penny hoped these friendships would last for years to come. Never in her life did she think she and her wife would be going out on double dates with Q and Bex every other month.

But there were two people she hadn’t heard from as much as the others. On launch day, Harry and Louis phoned her up to congratulate her on the book and tell her again how much they loved it. All of the people involved, of course, got advanced copies. Louis even spoke highly of it during a rare interview for _Rolling Stone_ about the work he was doing on his record label, which was seeing steady success. But Penny understood that they were otherwise busy. Harry had just wrapped filming on a new movie, Louis had a growing company to run, and three kids would always be a lot, even now that one was off to college. 

On Christmas Eve, Penny decided she would be the one to reach out. It was Louis’ birthday, and even though she was sure he’d received a hundred texts from friends and family that day, she decided to send him one more. Curled up on her couch with a cup of tea, the twinkling lights of the tree bouncing around the room, and a blanket draped over her legs, she pulled out her phone. The four of them were watching _How the Grinch Stole Christmas,_ a family tradition since the boys were old enough to pay attention.

_Hi Louis. Happy birthday! I hope Harry and the kids are treating you well and that you’ve been enjoying the holidays with your family. Hope to catch up soon. Penny._

Within a minute, her phone was already buzzing with a reply.

_Lovely to hear from you, Penny! Thank you. We’re having a wonderful Christmas and I hope you are too. Harry and the kids say hi. We’d love to get together soon. How are you and your family? Did you get our card?_

Penny looked at the text curiously. She hadn’t gotten their card, nor any cards, for that manner. Then again, the boys were in charge of checking the mail and had fallen quickly out of their chore routine as soon as the winter break began. That was on moms, too, since they were slacking on their orderly parenting. 

“I’ll be right back,” Penny whispered into her wife’s ear, gently removing herself from the cuddle.

“Do you want me to pause it?”

Penny kissed the back of her hand. “It’s okay. You guys watch. I’ll just be a second.”

At the front door, Penny bundled on her jacket, a thin pair of gloves, and her boots. The mailbox key was sitting in a leaf-shaped dish on the console table, so she scooped it up and opened the door, listening to the wreath rustle on the other side.

The fresh, bitterly cold air hit her nose as soon as she stepped outside. Her boots pressed footprints into the delicate snow as she made her way around the corner, the streetlights guiding her to the mailbox. She unlocked it and pulled everything out without looking, then raced back to the house as the cold began to freeze her nose and ears.

Pushing the door closed behind her, Penny unbundled and tossed her gloves on the table so she could file through the stack. In the living room, Cindy Lou Who was softly singing “Where are you Christmas?”

The letter was at the bottom of the stack, the address handwritten with black ink. No name on the return address, but who else would be sending them mail from Oregon? Sliding her finger under the flap to rip it open, Penny pulled out the card.

A Christmas card. As cheesy as ever. The five of them all in matching pajama sets. On the shirts, it looked like there were tiny reindeer riding skateboards, and they were wearing red pants with striped red and white socks to match. They sat on a furry carpet in front of their fireplace, wood burning behind them, a little kid in each dad’s lap with Celia in the middle. All of them smiling big and wide, the little ones with their adult teeth on display. They looked so grown up since the time Penny met them. 

She couldn’t help but feel her heart warm as she stared at the picture, sweet enough to make the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes all on its own. The greeting was simple: “Wishing you the happiest of holidays and a new year full of joy. Love, the Styles-Tomlinson Family.”

A big happy family. A year full of joy. A lifetime full of joy. Of love. It was quite obvious to Penny, after hearing their story and getting a glimpse into their lives, that this wish was something Harry and Louis had achieved long ago. She could recognize that kind of unconditional, almost indescribable love because she had found it in her own life, too. 

By starting with their _something_ , somewhere along the line, those two wound up giving each other everything.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, you can reblog my [post](https://bluejeanlouis.tumblr.com/post/626452455437271040/remember-me-fondly-by-kiddle-73k-m-enemies-to) for it on Tumblr!


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